


Songbird

by chicklette



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Artist Steve Rogers, Bi-Erasure, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Musician Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Outing, Paparazzi, Physical ailments, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Sort Of, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro, daughter Sofie, ex-wife Natasha, no powers au, past bucky/nat, reference to homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:34:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 70,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23990152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicklette/pseuds/chicklette
Summary: At 43, James Barnes is a washed up old man. He’s got a dozen Grammys in the hall closet, an agent that can’t get him a deal, a decade-old case of writer’s block, a moody teen-aged daughter, and the gorgeous actress Natasha Romanova for an ex-wife.  Well, one of them anyway.  He’s a man who’s given up on finding joy in his life, and if it wasn’t for his kid, he’d have probably found a way to quit the world a long time ago.Enter Steven Grant Rogers, struggling twenty-something, orphan, and someone who has no idea who Barnes is, other than some musician his mom liked a lot.The two men meet by accident, doing nothing more than passing the time in a quiet bar. But when a pap gets a shot of the two men embracing, Bucky takes it as a chance to finally come out as bisexual, and his agent makes him a proposition: Ten new songs and one very sweet boyfriend will get him a new record deal that will maybe, just maybe put him back on top.Now all he has to do is write the songs, convince the kid, and not fall in love. Should be easy, right?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 560
Kudos: 954





	1. Chip off the Old Block

**Author's Note:**

> Wild, massive, monstrous thanks to Deisderium, who has been cheer-leading this fic for *months* and I'm not exaggerating to say I probably wouldn't have gotten this far without her. She is a beta-reader PLUS. Thank you, so much. <3 
> 
> I've been writing this fic for almost a year now. It's 75-80% written, and will post weekly on Sundays. Expect it to roll in around 12-15 chapters total.

**A Chip off the Old Block?**

February 18, 2020

_The hot ticket in town this week is the one that buys you a seat at Tony’s Uptown, the swank, exclusive little club where all the hot acts play. Tonight’s bill? None other than Sofia Barnes, child prodigy of multi-platinum recording artist James Barnes and Oscar-award winning actress Natasha Romanova. Readers may recall the storybook romance of James and Natasha, the pair meeting, wooing, and marrying inside of a year. For just under a decade, America fell in love with this charming couple, whether it was watching the duo stroll down a red carpet premiere for one of Romanova’s movies, or rocking out in front of thousands at one of Barnes’s sold out shows. Often spotted at the farmer’s market in the east village with little Sofia in tow, America was stunned when the pair announced their split._

_Despite one remarriage for Romanova and two for Barnes (his most recent split from Jane Andrews was just last month), America still holds out hope that the pair will one day reunite. While it’s been confirmed that Sofia’s proud mama will be in the audience, there’s no word yet on Barnes, who hasn’t put out an album in over ten years. His last album, Eight Ways to Say Goodbye, was lauded as both a commercial and critical success, earning Barnes his eighth Grammy win. We don’t know if Sofia inherited her father’s chops, but one thing’s for sure: at just fifteen years old, Sofia is set to make quite a splash!_

.

“Hey, Nat, what’s up?”

His ex-wife pauses, then sighs. “It’s Sofie. I tried Jane, but she hasn’t been answering my calls.”

Bucky sighs. “Janie moved out last month.”

“Damn. I was hoping that was just a rumor. How are you doing?”

Shrugging, Bucky walks to the kitchen, grabs a cold beer. “You were right, she was too young.”

“Still. I know you wanted it to work.”

“Yeah, well, I always want it to work. Nothing new there. What’s up with Sof? Everything okay?”

“She’s fine,” Natasha says. “It’s. She changed her mind about the show. She doesn’t want you to come.”

Bucky takes a deep breath, walks over to the big windows that look out over the water. Ever since Sofia decided she wanted to be a musician, she’d banned Bucky from attending any of her performances, saying she wanted to do it on her own. 

Like he wasn’t the one who taught her to play in the first place. This fuckin’ kid. 

“Guess it’s lucky for me it’s a free country, huh?” 

“James.”

“What’d’ya want me to say, Nat? No way I’m missing this. It’s her first paying gig.”

“I know, calm down.”

“Yeah, calm down. Tell me that when she won’t let you come see her.”

“Look, it’s one of Tony’s restaurants. He said there’s a security booth in the back. He’ll get you in through the service entrance, and you can watch from there.”

Bucky holds the phone away from his face and blinks up at the ceiling. What is this world? With a sigh, he brings the phone back to his face. “Fine. Send the details to Delia. Anything else?”

“If you dress down some people will be less likely to recognize you.”

Because sure, Bucky’s just dying to go out in public looking some fucking schlub who can’t even be bothered to dress nice for his daughter’s show. Sure. 

He breathes deep, watches a seagull swoop down to rest on the waves of the bay. “Fine,” he says. 

“I mean it, James. No Armani suits.”

“I said it was fine, Natasha. Anything else?”

In the silence on the line he can hear her concern. Like that’s somehow gonna make anything easier. 

“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice quiet.

“I’m fine, Nat. You don’t gotta worry about me.”

“Well,” she says, after a moment of silence. “Someone should.”

“Sweetheart, you lost that right a decade ago. Leave it to the pros. I’m fine,” Bucky says again, and he mostly means it. 

Natasha makes a noise that means she doesn’t believe him, but isn’t willing to fight about it either. “Fine.” The divorce had been her choice. Bucky held out hope for a long time that she’d find her way back to him, but when she remarried for the second time, he found himself letting go of that hope. What was left was a friendship sparked by mutual respect and a love for their daughter that eclipsed everything. He knows no one gets it. Hell, the public’s still waiting for the two of them to get back together, but that’s not something that’ll ever happen. 

He thinks they’ve finally forgiven one another.

“Will I see you Friday?” he asks. 

“I’ll make a point of it. I’ve gotta go. Call me, James.”

“Uh huh,” he says, and hangs up the phone. 

He takes a long draw off the beer, then thinks the better of it. Part of him wants to take the boat out. Get lost on the water, find the rhythm in the waves and forget about the rest of it. 

He thinks about when Sofie was just born, before everything went to hell. The three of them would go out on the boat, with Bucky manning the helm and Natasha looking stunning as she held Sofie in her arms, the sun setting behind her, turning her red hair to fire. God, he thought they had it on lock. He really thought...

Well.

That’s that, then, he thinks, and drinks the beer down to nothing. Most of the time he can take the boat out and only remember the good stuff. Most of the time. He’s not sure his heart’s ever going to get over the loss of that dream: a home, a family, something like an ordinary life.

But that’s not today. 

Today he’s lonely and feeling shitty. Another relationship crashed and burned, and god knows what the papers are going to say about this one. It’s true that Janie was young--probably too young--but she was a hell of a lot of fun. She’d bounce into the room, all sunshine and light, and with her on his arm, he didn’t feel like a washed-up has-been. He felt a little bit like the hero she thought he was. At least for a little while.

In the end, though, it was always the same: They got tired of Bucky going on tour; they got tired of waiting for Bucky to write his next song; they got tired of Bucky’s homebody ways; they got tired of Bucky being so close with Nat. They got tired of Bucky.

Hell, he can’t even blame ‘em at this point. Nothing like thinking you’re signing up for a rock star only to find out he’s a has been.

And those are the ones that see the light of day. The others, the...the boys. Well, they get tired of being Bucky’s secret.

Ain’t no mystery why he can’t make a thing work. Still doesn’t mean it doesn’t smart. 

.

“Maria, my sweetheart, my favorite person.”

“Oh, Christ, what do you want, Barnes?”

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that.” Bucky walks over to the baby grand in the middle of the room, and opens up the keyboard. The new housekeeper keeps closing it. He’s gotta get after her about it; it’s not good for the keys. He taps a couple of notes and lets Maria decide how much of her patience she’s gonna let him test. 

She’s been his agent since his disastrous days with Hydra Records, and he trusts her implicitly. Now he’s coming to her with a pretty big ask, so he’s more than happy to let her break his balls if she needs to. This ain’t about him.

She sighs out a long, deep breath. “Alright, I’m listening.”

“There’s a couple of shows next month. Some oldies beachfest. I was wondering if you could get us booked.”

He can hear that Maria’s taken aback. “I...yeah. They’ve already called asking about you, but you said nothing else for the rest of the year.”

“I know. I just...Dum Dum called yesterday. I think the guys are getting anxious.” Which is the nice way of saying that a couple of the guys from the band are broke. Bucky’s always held his own publishing, well, most of it, so he’s been alright, but the others...if Bucky’s not touring, they don’t make money. 

It’s a battle he’s always fighting: the tension between wanting to fuck off from any kind of public life, and knowing that he has people counting on him for paychecks. Even Maria--he knows she’s got a bunch of other clients, but he also knows that he made her mortgage payments for a lot of years.

“Alright,” she says. “They’ve already announced the acts, but I can probably get you in as a special guest. How many shows do you want?”

He gets up to pace while he figures out what he can stand versus what the guys need.

“They’re all stadium gigs, right? Maybe just the three in New York, and...what, I guess we gotta do LA?” 

“Might be able to get around LA. They’ll want Florida, though.”

“Yeah, sure. You can set it all up?”

“Consider it done. And hey, my kid’s orthodontist thanks you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky says, but there’s fondness in his voice. He hasn’t done a big tour in years, but he and the Howlies pick up a dozen or so shows a year, usually East Coast, which helps keep production costs down. 

“I’ll have a courier bring over the contracts sometime tomorrow, alright?”

“Yep. And hey, thanks, Maria. I owe you one.”

“You owe me a dozen, but who’s keeping track?” 

Bucky smiles at the affection in her voice. 

Work done, Bucky walks over to the piano, fingers striking a couple of keys before he sits down on the bench. “Got anything for me today, sweetheart?” he asks, before closing his eyes and letting himself go. 

What comes out is something heavy; a thunder and lightning song is what Sofie would have called it when she was little. It doesn’t matter though. Bucky knows his playing these days reflects his sour mood, and that the only music he can write has no commercial value, but he plays it anyway. 

He plays it anyway.

He plays because he has to. All those years ago, reporters and talk show hosts would ask him how he came up with his songs, and did he always know he was going to be a musician, and Bucky always says yes, because what else was he gonna do? Who else was he gonna be if not Barnes? What’s he gonna do with his hands, if he’s not playing the piano? 

Every now and then someone in the press gets in touch, asks if Bucky’d be willing to do an interview, and every time he has Maria tell them no. God, he used to love doing night show interviews. He used to love the way the mic smelled, the cute little make up girls coming by to pat him down, the studio audience and how he could look out at them and see each and every one of them looking back at him, rapt, like he knew some kind of secret to the universe, and that he might share it with them. 

It was incredible, the feeling of being so connected with that many people. He still gets it, now and then, when he’s doing a show and there’s a stadium’s worth of fans, singing his songs back to him. 

Sometimes he’ll just sit and listen, playing the music, but letting them do the heavy lifting. It’s one of the things that makes him feel...makes his heart feel full. Makes him feel grateful, for the talent he’s got, and the life it gave him.

Well, the career it gave him, anyway. 

The rest of it’s gone to shit, and he knows that most of that has to do with him. The thing with Nat, that was probably the one thing he didn’t fuck up, but Sofie, god, he tries so hard with her, and he knows it’s her age and that some of it is that she can’t just be “normal,” when what she really means is “not famous” except that he’s pretty sure she’s got no idea how nice her life is because of the money, and he knows there’s not much he can do about that. 

But Susan, Lauren, Janie? All that was on him. He knows it. At least he was upfront with Joey. There’s no way his career, what’s left of it, would survive a bisexual coming out. His fans are all old now; they’re not as open as the kids these days. They wouldn’t understand. 

A wrong note pulls Bucky out of his reverie, and he looks down at his left hand, sees the swelling around the joints, and knows that’s all for today. 

He heads to the kitchen to make a snack, and grabs a beer while he’s there. He doesn’t consciously think about drinking it, and he doesn’t acknowledge that his regular grocery order now comes with a couple of cases of beer and wine, and a bottle or two of good scotch for the bad days. 

He’s not ready to face it head on, so he doesn’t. He’ll have to, eventually. If Nat catches wind of it, she’ll crucify him.

So instead he walks down to the dock, picks up his pole and sets it in water, and lets the booze and breeze do their thing. 


	2. Hydra Records Look to Sign a Familiar Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very much love to Deisderium again for the much needed help. All mistakes are mine alone.

**2.**

**Hydra Records Looks to Sign a Familiar Name**

_ After a stunning performance at Stark’s Tony’s Uptown, Sofia Barnes is being courted by none other than Hydra Records. Readers may recall that Hydra has had a on-again, off-again relationship with the young prodigy’s father, James Barnes. Barnes left Hydra shortly before his divorce with Sofia’s mother, actress Natasha Romanova. Barnes currently has no contractual obligations, and has not put out a new album in over ten years. Will Sofia follow in her father’s footsteps? Only time will tell, but the savvy reader knows that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree with this one! _

.

After much negotiation, Bucky watches Sofie’s performance from the light room (“I’m coming in through the staff entrance, Sof, it’ll be fine. I’m not gonna let ‘em make a scene. Now which pieces are you doing? Which arrangements?”), just like they planned. She looked amazing, and while her playing was a little bit stiff to begin with, around the second number she stopped playing by the note and started playing by heart. There was a real difference, and Bucky couldn’t have been more proud. 

He’d slipped backstage for a hug and kiss, careful not to be seen. She was absolutely glowing and it put Bucky back to when he was a kid, so young and just learning the magic of playing music for other people, how they looked at you differently after, like you knew some kind of secret. Like you were special. 

He hopes he’s exposed her to enough of his lifestyle that she knows that people will say anything they think you want to hear in order to get what they want. As proud as Bucky is, he can’t help but still be terrified for his little girl. 

Still, she sounded incredible up there. They’d had champagne and sparkling lemonade in the dressing room backstage, but then Sofie wanted to hang out with her friends, and Nat’s new boyfriend was waiting back at her place, so Bucky was left at loose ends, all energy and no doing. 

Which is how he finds himself where he’s at now: playing piano at a tiny bar and counting on the people around him to help him pretend he’s no one special. Coulson’s Clubhouse is a tiny little piano bar tucked into a back alley in a nondescript part of Brooklyn. Bucky can take the subway there if he wants, and he sometimes does, wearing cheap sunglasses and a baseball hat pulled low over his eyes, trying his hardest to pretend he’s nobody.

He likes the little bar. It reminds him a lot of the kinds of dives he used to play in, back when he was seventeen and cutting school so he could practice with a bunch of older guys, trying to hit it big. Plus, sometimes when it’s a weeknight and the place is slow, Phil lets Bucky sit at the piano and play whatever he’s feeling. The patrons never seem to mind, and word’s gotten around that if you acknowledge Barnes in any way, you will be escorted to the door and asked never to return. It makes it nice, being able to play what he wants, instead having to perform one of his multi-platinum hits. He likes it when he can just be a nobody at the piano, likes the polite smattering of applause when he’s done, because they’re nothing like the howls he gets from fans when they’re paying to see him.

Tonight though, there’s only Bucky, Phil behind the bar, a couple making out in the back corner, and a kid at the bar who’s filling out his jeans and tshirt in all the right places. Bucky has half a mind to go over and talk to the kid, but the idea of it makes him feel like a fool. He’s never thought of himself as a particularly attractive guy, so he can’t imagine what a kid half his age is gonna see in him if he doesn’t know who Bucky is. 

Maybe Nat’s right, and he should stick with someone his own age. 

The kid keeps peeking over at Bucky, but so far he hasn’t made a move to come over, so Bucky’s not giving Phil the signal to boot him out.

Yet. 

Instead he closes his eyes and plays a riff on a pop song that Sofie played for him a few weeks ago. It’s a catchy tune, but to Bucky’s ear, it could use a little rearranging, so he does it on the fly, fingers trickling out the notes while he watches the ice melt in the glass of whiskey on the piano. 

He closes his eyes again, seeing the notes in his head, reordering them, adding a suspension here, cutting one short there, until he comes to the end of the song. For a whole two minutes, he was someplace that wasn’t inside of his own head, fucking himself up with a lifetime of coulda’s and shoulda’s, but didn’t’s. 

He’s thinking about what to play next, debating between Handel and Bach, when the kid gets up and comes his way. Bucky flicks his eyes to Phil, who’s watching with amusement, and doesn’t that make Bucky nervous?

“Excuse me?” the kid says, and Bucky looks up into a pair of the bluest eyes he’s ever seen. They’re the deep blue of the Medeterranean he thinks, the kind of blue you can float on, get a little lost. “I’m - the guy at the bar said you might take a request?” The kid puts a five dollar bill on top of the piano, and Bucky’s gaping at him, trying to figure out what the hell is going on. “Just, if you know  _ 58th Street Waltz _ ? I would really appreciate it if you could play it.”

The kid’s looking at Bucky, so hopeful and young...and without a hint of recognition. When Bucky looks over at Phil, he shrugs and grins, making Bucky believe that this kid is for real. “ _ 58th Street Waltz _ , huh? That’s an oldie.”

The kid shrugs. “Yeah. It--it was my mom’s favorite, and today would have been her birthday, so if you know it, I’d really appreciate it. I can--I think I found the music for it on my phone? If that helps. You wouldn’t have to sing it. The bartender? Phil? He said you don’t sing.”

Ah hell, this kid might as well have laid Bucky out with a one-two punch. Not only is this kid very earnestly asking to hear one of Bucky’s songs, but he has no idea who Bucky is, and the song he’s asking for is one of Bucky’s favorites. 

Hell.

“Sure, kid,” Bucky says, and slides the five back toward the kid. “You don’t gotta tip me.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be rude.”

“You’re good,” Bucky says, and then turns back to the keys and starts to play. The tune comes with no prompting at all, sliding from his mind out through his fingertips, filling the air with a song that can still make the hair on the back of Bucky’s neck stand up. 

By the time he’s done, he’s really done. His left hand is starting to get that hot, heavy feeling, so he stands up, grabs his drink, and takes a seat at the bar, just one over from the kid. The kid offers him a watery smile.

“Thank you,” the kid says. “That was...you play beautifully. You could go pro, you know. I bet a lot of people would pay to hear someone play like that. It was exactly the way I remember it.”

“Yeah, Bucky,” Phil says, teasing in his voice. “What are you playing in a dive like this for?”

Bucky gives him a menacing look over the top of his glass, but leaves it be. 

“Anyway,” the kid says. “At least let me buy you a drink? It meant a lot, hearing that song.”

Bucky shrugs and nods his consent to Phil.

“Steve,” the kid says, thrusting out his hand. “Steve Rogers. Thank you again.”

Here it is, do or die. Bucky can introduce himself as James Barnes, and the kid will know in an instant who he is. Or...or maybe he can at least enjoy a little light conversation, maybe get another hour’s escape out of this.

“My friends call me Bucky,” he says, and takes Steve’s hand in a shake. 

Steve’s hands are big and warm, and Bucky’s hit with a glut of lust that makes his head swimmy in the moment. Hell, maybe he should have given his full name. Maybe it would sway the kid his way for the night. 

Coulson steps forward with Bucky’s drink. “So, Steve,  _ Bucky, _ what brings the two of you in on such an...average spring night?”

Steve looks down at his hands, then picks up his bottle of beer and starts picking at the label. “My friend Sam said to check this place out. I--it would have been my mom’s birthday today, and I miss her a lot, still, so I thought it would be nice to get out of the house for a while. Sam said they sometimes have live music, and that sounded good.”

“Your friend didn’t want to come with?”

Flushing a little, Steve ducks his head down. “I didn’t ask...he’s got a mid-term due next week. I didn’t want to bother him.”

Wow, does Bucky feel that. No matter what happens, you don’t bleed on anyone else. That’s what his father taught him before he walked out, and that’s what his mother displayed for him her whole life. 

“I getcha,” Bucky says. He wants to reach out and quiet Steve’s nervous hands, but he hasn’t gotten a full read on the kid and doesn’t want to take a knock to the jaw because he read it wrong. “So what was she like, your mother?”

That does make Steve stop picking at the bottle and turn to Bucky to take a good look. Bucky has no idea what Steve’s looking for, but he must find it, because his whole face opens up. 

“She was amazing,” Steve says, and he spends the next little while chronicling the life of his mother, who was, in Steve’s eyes, a saint. 

With the few things that Steve says, Bucky’s surprised by how much they have in common. Both had fathers who drank too much and took off young, both had mothers who were stoic but full of love, both were born and raised in Brooklyn. Before Bucky knows it, it’s gone three in the morning and Phil’s making noises like he wants to close up.

It’s a shame. He’s really been enjoying Steve. Kid’s sharp as a tack, seems to have a great big heart, and everytime he looks at Bucky with those big blue eyes, Bucky finds himself wanting to take on the whole world if it means that Steve will keep looking at him that way. That first flush of lust is still going strong. 

Steve’s smiling over the top of his beer bottle, a flirty thing Bucky would know anywhere, when Phil leans over the bar between the two of them. 

“Bottoms up,” Phil says. “You don’t have to go home...” he trails off.

“But you can’t stay here,” Bucky finishes. His eyes don’t leave Steve’s and there’s something warm and wanting there. 

Bucky takes a chance.

“Let me know if I got this wrong,” he starts. “But do you want to get out of here? We can get a cab to my place.” 

Steve smiles at him, a slow, sweet thing that turns his whole face warm and soft. “I only live a block away,” he says. “My place is closer.”

Grinning, Bucky pulls a couple of twenties out and sets them on the bar. “Lead the way.”

.

It’s a quick walk to Steve’s place, and Steve keeps passing him these quick, shy looks that make Bucky feel like he’s gonna pass out. It’s adorable, and it’s making Bucky feel like a nervous kid, stomach fluttery and passing back shy smiles of his own. 

By the time they get inside Steve’s front door, Bucky’s half hard just from the excitement. When Steve turns to close and lock the door behind them, Bucky crowds up next to him, putting one hand on Steve’s hip. Steve’s got maybe a good two inches on him, but Bucky finds he likes looking up into those blue, blue eyes. 

“I don’t really do this,” Steve says, his eyes darting between Bucky’s mouth and his eyes. “But you’re…”

“I’m…?” Bucky asks, leaning up to brush his nose against Steve’s.

“Something,” Steve finally says, before dipping his head to brush his lips against Bucky’s. 

It’s light, the soft kiss of someone without a lifetime of experience, and Bucky finds himself believing that Steve hasn’t done this a lot in his life. Still, when Bucky presses forward, chasing the kiss, Steve rests a heavy hand on Bucky’s cheek, fingers scraping against his cheekbone and that sweetness, that tenderness, about breaks him. 

How long’s it been since someone was that soft with him? Janie was all feral and hot, young and ready to rock Bucky’s world. Sometimes it felt like she had something to prove, and toward the end there it felt like she was trying to show him up, but, well, Bucky’s always had big appetites. He definitely hasn’t slowed down any.

Bucky leans up, presses his body against Steve’s and kisses a sigh against his lips when Steve’s other hand skates down Bucky’s side. It comes to rest at the small of Bucky’s back, fingers digging in a little, drawing Bucky closer.

They kiss a little more, mouths opening, tongues touching, a sweet and tender dance that has Bucky’s head spinning. When Bucky takes a shot and deepens the kiss, Steve responds with a sharp inhalation, and a sound, so soft, that Bucky could believe he made it up, except that then Steve does it again. 

“I don’t mean to be forward,” Bucky says, breaking their kiss to trace his tongue against Steve’s pulse. “But I would really like you to take me to bed.”

Steve pulls back, searches Bucky’s eyes, and Bucky feels old again, worrying over what Steve’s seeing there, the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, maybe that freckle on his cheek that Sofie keeps telling him to have checked. 

Then he smiles, a little shy again, before wrapping both hands around Bucky’s waist and diving in for a long, deep kiss. They’re both panting in moments, and Bucky feels enveloped by Steve, his big hands roaming Bucky’s body, fingers sliding through Bucky’s hair, tugging a little and making Bucky so weak. 

“Come on,” Steve says, and launches himself away from the front door to take Bucky by the hand and lead him deeper into the apartment. It’s small, but neat: a little kitchen peeking out from the corner, a long hallway with a bathroom and two bedrooms, but it looks like one is being used as some kind of office? Bucky spies an easel and wonders some more about who Steve is in the daylight. 

Once they hit the sheets, things move pretty quick. Steve takes off Bucky’s clothes and traces over Bucky’s skin with his tongue. Bucky finds himself grateful for the dim light, because while he does keep himself up, he’s also forty-three years old. He knows exactly what he looks like naked.

Steve on the other hand. Wow. Steve’s got muscles on his muscles, an acreage of smooth, pale skin on his chest, and the lightest smattering of chest hair, just coarse enough to remind Bucky that Steve is all-American male. 

He breathes a sigh of relief when Steve agrees to top, because Christ, he hasn’t been fucked in so long, and it feels so good, Steve laying over him, pressing inside, gentle and insistent, sliding deep into Bucky, so that Bucky can feel every inch. He thinks for a moment about how it would be if the tables were turned, and finds himself wondering if Steve would let him return the favor. 

He finds out about six in the morning, when he wakes up hard from vivid dreams of hands and mouths all over him, and looks over to see Steve smiling at him. 

When Bucky wakes up the next time, the sun is high and he feels sated like he hasn’t in a good long while. He’s got Beethoven’s 5th going on a loop in his head, and his fingers twitch with the desire to play it. Sitting up, he scratches his head and his belly, and decides to go ahead and get gone. 

It was nice of the kid to let him sleep so long, but he doesn’t want to overstay his welcome. 

Shuffling into last night’s clothes (jeans, a white button down, and a plain black jacket), he steps down the hall to the bathroom, and does his best to tame his hair, before running his finger around his mouth with some toothpaste. 

When he walks into the living room, he’s surprised to see Steve there, poring over a laptop with a pencil between his teeth, looking adorably rumpled. There’s a coffee cup at his elbow and Bucky catches the scent of it in the air. It makes his stomach growl. 

He’d texted for a car while he was getting dressed, but now he’s wishing he’d told them to stop for coffee on the way. 

Steve looks up and startles when he catches sight of Bucky, then grins. “Hey, hope you don’t mind that I let you sleep. You were pretty racked out.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Guess I needed it. Anyway, thanks for that. And, uh, last night.”

The grin doesn’t drop from Steve’s face, but Bucky can see that he’s clocked the goodbye speech. “Hey, pretty sure we both had fun.”

“Anyway, I gotta get going.”

“Sure,” Steve says. He types something in on his laptop, then looks back at Bucky. “There’s coffee in the kitchen. Help yourself. Half and half in the fridge, or that powder stuff, if you prefer it. I keep it around for emergencies.”

Bucky pauses a moment. He’d planned to duck right out and wait for the car outside, but...the coffee does smell damned good.

“Alright,” he says, making his way into the compact kitchen. It’s sparse, but orderly. 

“Cups above the coffee maker,” Steve says, raising his voice just a little. 

Bucky pours a cup, has a sip, then reaches for the cream. “This stuff’s strong enough to choke a horse,” he says. 

Steve cackles. “My buddy Sam says the same thing.” 

Steve hasn’t made any move to get up from where he’s at, and in a lot of ways, Bucky’s glad. He likes Steve, and they had fun, but that was one night of play-pretend. He’s got a whole life he’s gotta get back to, and it doesn’t look like Steve’s gonna try to turn this into something it’s not.

Still, Bucky is gonna miss that hot, tight body. Jesus, he didn’t know they made ‘em like that in real life. 

Bucky sips his coffee in the kitchen, sneaking peeks at Steve as he’s on his laptop. It’s an older model, and Steve’s got a furrow of concentration between his eyes, and a pencil in his mouth. Now and then his lips close around it, and Bucky has another round of lewd thoughts about the kid. 

Finally, his phone buzzes to let him know the car’s arrived. 

“Hey,” he says, dumping the rest of his coffee and setting the cup in the sink. “I gotta go, my ride’s here.”

“Oh,” Steve says. “Okay, yeah. I”ll walk you down.”

“You don’t gotta,” Bucky says, but Steve’s already closed the laptop and set the pencil aside. 

“Not a bother,” Steve answers, and gets up to lead Bucky to the door and down the two flights of stairs to the door that leads to the street. When they get there, Steve stands aside to let Bucky pass. “Listen,” he says, just as Bucky’s about to walk through. “Thanks, for last night.” There’s a soft smile on his face and something in Bucky aches to see it. Steve really is beautiful. 

“Hey,” Bucky says. “I had a good time, too.” 

“Alright,” Steve says, the tops of his cheeks flushing. “I know you gotta go.” He opens the door to the street, then grabs Bucky’s hand. “Not expecting anything,” he says, pushing a piece of paper into Bucky’s palm. “But if you’re ever in the neighborhood.”

Bucky’s sure it’s Steve’s number, and the way he goes about it, asking nothing from Bucky, giving it like the gift it is, for Bucky to do with as he pleases...it touches him. He leans up, grabs Steve into a hug, then kisses him one good, all coffee and toothpaste, with a little bite to Steve’s bottom lip. 

They’re both grinning like madmen when Bucky finally steps out into the street. 

He’s sure he won’t call. Steve’s too young, and despite being awful pretty, Steve’s a decent guy who deserves a hell of a lot more than being some has-been’s queer secret. 

Still. The ride back uptown is gorgeous, and Bucky could swear he hears birds chirping. 

The rest of Bucky’s day is nice. He talks to Sofie for a little bit., breaking down the performance, and talking about what she wants to change for the next one. Then it’s on to Maria to settle a few details for the coming shows, and Dum Dum to make sure the guys are on board. 

He’s had the same band, minus the sax player, since his very first record deal, back when he was nineteen. Back then, they said Barnes was earnest, but ultimately missed the mark. One asshole said he tried too hard to be everything to everyone. And then there was  _ Rolling Stone’ _ s “Barnes has potential, but ultimately tries too hard. Someone needs to help this kid get out of his own way.” Fuckers. 

Now, of course, they don’t say anything at all. Bucky’s not sure which he prefers. 

The public though, that’s a different story. They liked _ First Light  _ well enough, and the follow up,  _ Second Street _ , had two gold records.  _ Three Nights _ though, that was the record that put ‘em on the map. Barnes was a household name after that, with people saying there wasn’t a dud on the whole album.

That year Bucky won two Grammy’s, a slew of People’s Choice awards, and walked away with every VMA he was up for. At the afterparty, he’d met both Tom Waits and Springsteen, but when Bowie came over and asked what exactly they’d used for percussion on “Dizzy Days,” Bucky had to dig his fingernails into his palms in order to not embarrass himself right then and there. 

His next two albums were monsters, and Bucky and the guys spent nearly three years working non-stop. The result was Bucky’s first divorce. Susan was a ball breaker, and once he’d loved that about her, but then she’d gone and asked for a percentage of the merchandise because she’d been the one who snapped the photo that they’d ended up using, and that told him everything he needed to know about her. He really thought they were in love, but...if she was planning on forever, then the money shouldn’t have been an issue. Who cares about royalties when you’re sharing a bank account? 

During the divorce he discovered just how much of his money she’d funneled into her own hands. The court case took years, but in the end, Bucky figured he got off cheap. She got a percentage of everything they sold with that image, but Bucky got to see her true colors. He wasn’t anything more than a machine to her, and while Bucky’d learned a lot in the business, he never did learn to tame his romantic heart.

A couple of the other guys ended up divorced, and one of ‘em, Morita, managed to fall in love with their wardrobe girl. They’d gotten married after the show in Vegas, and now he and Jenna have three kids.

It was hard. Bucky wanted nothing more than to keep writing, keep recording, keep touring, keep riding the wild wave of success they were on. He was terrified that if he took a break, the magic would go poof, and he’d go back to being a nothing again. 

Finally, the guys insisted on some time off, so they went on and lived lives, and Bucky bought a place on the water because his tax guy was telling him he needed to do something with his money. 

He was with Maria, looking at furniture in some fancy Manhattan joint, when Natasha Romanova walked in. She’d recognized him, and Bucky did what he did whenever he was in the presence of a beautiful woman: He became the perfect gentleman with a side order of class clown. 

Whatever. It got her laughing, which got her to invite him to a party in the Hamptons, which found him at the host’s baby grand, which got her sitting down right next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder as he played. The party was winding down, and she was so beautiful it made Bucky’s stomach hurt. 

“What is this?” she asked.

“This is you, doll,” he said, pulling out every last stop, composing something brand new on the fly. “This is what I hear when I see you.”

She’d turned and looked at him, bottomless green eyes, and said “Come on and take me home now.”

He did. They made love on the inflatable bed that Bucky’d been sleeping on since he bought the place, and when his new bed was finally delivered, they made love on that. 

Natasha wasn’t like anyone he’d ever known. She could look right at you and lie to your face, but would tell on herself a moment later, like she’d forgotten that she didn’t have to do that anymore. 

Their romance became media legend: the hot-shot piano player from Brooklyn and the most beautiful woman in Hollywood. 

_ Eh,  _ he thinks. They were love. And they had a good run of it, too. Hell, the whole thing would be worth it just for Sofie alone. If it wasn’t for her, Bucky’s not sure he and Nat would have been so kind to one another over the years. So adult. 

Eventually, all their hurt feelings faded away, leaving them with a solid friendship. Bucky can be happy with that.

Later that night, he makes himself some dinner--just some pasta and hunk of beef--and settles in to watch a movie before bed. It was a nice and easy day, and he’s glad he can look forward to another few weeks of these before he has to get the guys together for rehearsals, before they head out on tour.

Looking back, Bucky will wonder that he’d ever had such a peaceful, simple night, because the next day, the whole world goes straight to hell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the very kind reception to the first chapter. <3 I am very grateful.


	3. Super Star has a Super Secret!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *lovelovelove* to deisderium for her cheerleading and beta work. All mistakes are mine.

**Superstar has a Super Secret!**

_ Photos taken late this morning seem to reveal none other than piano god James Barnes in a steamy embrace with a young...man? Barnes, known for his multi-plantium hits and womanizing ways, was seen smooching a much younger stud not too far from his Brooklyn home. No word yet on who the boy-toy is, but sources close to Barnes say ex-wife Natasha Romanova is devastated. Readers may recall the pair’s storybook romance that ended unceremoniously just ten years ago. Since then, Barnes has been linked to a bevy of young women, even marrying two of them in unions that lasted about as long as it took the ink to dry. Well, now it looks like we know why! Spokespeople for both Barnes and Romanova have issued no statement at this time.  _

When Bucky wakes up, he finds three missed calls from Maria, one from Natasha, and a host of text messages, including one from Sofie that just says “love you, Daddy.” The one from Falsworth is the one that makes him nervous though. It says “We got your back. Whatever makes you happy.” 

What the fuck?

He calls Maria first off. When Maria has bad news, she’s direct in her delivery and moves straight to problem solving, listing the necessary and tangible actions before getting into the impact, or the emotions. In all the years that Bucky’s known her, he has never once felt judged by her. 

“There you are, Jesus,” she says, answering the phone. 

“What the hell’s going on?”

“Shit. You haven’t seen. It’s front page of the  _ Post _ , but the gossip sites, the  _ Mirror _ , they’re all carrying it too.”

Dread sits heavy in his belly as he brings up  _ TMZ _ , and once it loads, he sits down, hard. 

There on the front page is a series of pictures of him from yesterday. He’s kissing Steve, holding onto him, and the two of them are grinning at each other before Bucky lets go and walks away. There’s one shot of Bucky looking back over his shoulder, a smile on his face, while Steve waves from the doorway. 

Shit. 

Shiiiit. 

This is...Bucky can’t even wrap his head around it. And, fuck, with Janie leaving just last month, he is a hundred percent certain about what the press is going to say. 

Fuck. 

“Hey, calm down,” Maria says. “It would have been better to get ahead of this, but we’re here now. I’ve already put a call in to Janie’s attorney to find out if they’re going to issue a statement. She’s signed the NDA’s, so the worst she can do is say she always suspected something. More than that and she loses the whole settlement. What’s Natasha going to say?”

Bucky’s head is spinning. Nat. Jesus. 

“I gotta call her. Sofie. I gotta….”

“I’ve sent security to the building. The doorman’s aware and the police know to expect a press circus. They’ll do what they can. I also sent a team to Sofie’s school. Nat’s got her own team there, but they’re cooperating. Who’s the kid?”

With a shaky exhale, Bucky says, “No one, really. Just a guy I...I picked up at a bar. I wasn’t...we’re not a thing.” He hopes he’s keeping the humiliation out of his voice.

“Well, someone out there thinks otherwise. Nothing we can do about the photos, Bucky, I already tried. We need to decide how you want to manage this.”

Bucky loves her a little bit in that moment. She’s not damning him, she’s not bitching him out for making her job harder, and she’s not judging him. He’s long thought that she’s suspected he’s bi, but now, with the proof staring her in the face, she’s nothing but her usual self. 

“What is there to manage?” he says. “Secret’s out now. Everyone knows I’m a big old queer.”

“Okaaaay. Do you want to make a statement? I can book you on some of the shows.”

“What’s it look like if we go no comment?”

Bucky hears her draw a breath, hold it. “If there are more guys like this one, chances are good at least one of ‘em will talk. We won’t be able to spin that. If we get out ahead of it, you control the message.”

“Shit.” Bucky gets up to pace in front of the picture windows. If he can’t be on the water, at least he can see it, smell it. The ocean’s a part of what makes him whole, the saline in his blood. And right now he needs--he needs help. “Alright, what’s the play?”

“Let me get you on a couple of the shows. Kimmel, Cordon, Thor. Too bad Oprah’s retired--we could do an anniversary thing. That interview still gets thousands of youtube views a day.” 

Jesus Christ. The last time he made the circuit like this was right after he and Nat separated. He’d had to be so careful about what he said, covering his hurt, trying to make it look like it was a mutual parting of ways. Of course Oprah caught him out, got him all wet around the eyes on national TV. 

“Fine,” he says. “Whatever’s best. No morning shows, though. And nothing on Fox.”

“The Fox ban is eternal,” Maria says. Then softer, kinder, “You gonna talk to the kid?”

With a heavy sigh, Bucky sits down on the piano bench, lets his fingers drift across the keys. “Guess I gotta.”

“Do you have contact info?”

“Yeah, he…” Bucky drifts off, remembering the shy way Steve had pressed his number into Bucky’s hand, the sweet smile he’d given Bucky, wide open with no expectations. “He gave me his number,” Bucky says, thinking about the slip of paper that he’d left on his dresser.

“Okay. I have a few more calls to make this morning. I’ll be in touch this afternoon.”

He’s a little intimidated at the idea of having to call the kid up, and not under the circumstances that either of them would have hoped for. 

“Alright,” he says, feeling his phone buzz with yet another text message. “Hey, thanks, Maria.”

.

Bucky calls three times, and when each call goes straight to voicemail, he starts to worry. Either Steve’s not taking his calls, or Steve’s getting too many calls to take. Both options are lousy, and Bucky’s gotta do something about it. This kid, he doesn’t deserve this kind of attention. When Bucky remembers why Steve was even at the Clubhouse last night, his skin grows clammy. 

Shit.

All there is to do is wait, and Bucky’s never been very good at that. 

Turns out, he only has to wait for about ten minutes. Then Natasha calls and he knows he can put it off, but he also knows he’ll be better off if he doesn’t. 

“Hey, Nat.”

“You’re an idiot.” Bucky would be offended, but her tone is worried, and warm.

“I know. Believe me, I had no idea the paps were around. It was still a stupid thing to do.” When Natasha realized a few years into their marriage that Bucky was bisexual, she’d taken it with the good grace that seems born into her skin. She’d asked if he was interested in non-monogamy, and informed him that she wasn’t. Bucky was so over the moon for Nat, she was the only person he could see at the time. 

Still, once they split, she’d encouraged him again to think about coming out. Bucky always figured once he retired from public life for good, he’d think about it. 

Maybe. 

“The guy?” Natasha asks. “Is it serious?”

“No,” Bucky says. “And before you think it, there’s no way he set this up. He’s--he’s a good kid, Nat. He’s not the kind of guy who’d do a thing like this.”

“Oh, so you know him well, hmm?”

Sighing, Bucky goes into the kitchen, fusses with the coffee maker and gets it brewing. He waits Nat out, because she knows damn well he doesn’t know the kid at all. Bucky hasn’t had a relationship with a man since Joey, and that was doomed from the beginning. You might be able to fall in love in the dark, but love sure don’t grow there. 

“Have you talked to him?” Nat asks.

“No. I tried, but he’s not answering his phone. It’s just--he’s a decent kid, Nat. At the least I’d like to get him some security.”

“And at the most?”

“I don’t know? Compensate him for the hassle, maybe?”

“Hmmm.” Like everything about his enigmatic ex, he’s not quite sure it means.

“What’re you thinking?”

“Are you sure he didn’t arrange this? Maybe while you were asleep?” 

Buck thinks back to the morning, how well rested he’d felt, and how absorbed in his work Steve seemed to be. There was nothing off. The kid never showed even a hint of recognition. If it was an act, that kid deserved an award. “I’d bet Dottie that he had no idea who I was until the paper came out.”

“Jesus,” Nat laughs. “Your piano? I guess that means you’re sure. Now, what are you doing to take care of yourself?” 

“I’m--.” He’s not going to lie to Nat when they both know the answer is nothing.

There’s a pause, where neither of them says anything, then Nat says, “I’m having Sofie picked up from school early. I don’t want her getting a bunch of second-hand information..”

“That’s--great. Thank you.”

“I think you should be here. Or we can come to you.”

“I don’t want her anywhere near here. The press is all over.”

“Okay. You’ll come here, then? I’ll let the doorman know to expect you. Come in through the basement.”

“Yep,” Bucky answers.

“Hey,” she says, and her voice goes all soft and honey sweet, like it does when she’s being vulnerable. “You know it’s not true, right? I’m not...you know I’m not pining.”

It doesn’t feel like the punch in the gut it would have even five years ago, but it’s still sharp. The only thing he’d ever really wanted besides fortune and fame was a family. The money’s nice, but a family, a home, the hunger for that goes deeper than anything Bucky’s ever known. Giving up on Natasha had been one of the hardest things he’s ever done, so who can blame him if he keeps trying to fire up the magic somewhere else?

“I know, Nat. I think we’re both long past that, don’t you?”

“Yeah. I just…. Are you really alright?”

“I’m gonna be fine,” he says, his voice equally soft. “I’ll see you soon.”

He takes two more calls with Maria, sends a group text to the Howlies, and then gets ready to leave for Nat’s place. It’s not ideal. He’d rather spend the day wallowing, and while Steve was the best fuck he’s had in...well, since before Janie, it sure as hell wasn’t worth all this. 

Jesus. 

.

By the time Bucky gets home that night, he’s exhausted. The talk with Sofie was good. She’s indignant at the press for outing him without his permission, and asks Bucky if he feels safe at home now, and if he wants her to come stay with him. Honestly, this kid. Of all the shit he and Nat fucked up, and there was a lot of it, they got one thing right. 

At one point he and Nat both had to argue her down from marching over to the  _ Post _ to yell at the editor in person. She settles instead for anonymously reprimanding people online giving them her best telling off and asking how’d they like it if someone splashed their most intimate moments on the front page of the internet. 

He couldn’t adore her more if he tried. 

Bucky cracks a beer and takes it out to the patio. The smell of the water hits him, and just like that, he feels a layer of calm settle over him, like a blanket. The ocean’s always done this for him, brought him a sense of peace, no matter what. He remembers spending days down by the water, the sound of the waves a constant backdrop to whatever else his imagination had going. Between that and piano lessons, his entire childhood can be mapped by those two sounds. 

One of his earliest memories was trying to play the sound of the ocean. Sometimes he thinks he gets it right. Those are really, really good days. He hasn’t had one of those in a while. 

Sitting on his back deck, Bucky lets his mind wander with the tune in his head. It’s loose right now, a distant plink of keys, notes that are soft and drifting. He wants to chase it. He wants to get up off his ass, sit down at the piano and pick at the notes until they form a cohesive melody. Until they become a song that he can write down, something he can play again and again, until he knows it by heart, until it’s perfect and he can set it out loose in the world, see if someone else hears in it the things he does. 

Taking another sip of his beer, he sits back and sighs. That way lies madness. He hasn’t written a decent song in...going on a decade. He managed to pull out one last album after he and Nat split, and if he’s being honest, it was mostly an ode to the rampant depression that plagued him in the wake of their split.

Was she the love of his life? At the time? Sure. But Bucky knows he’s moved on since then. Hell, he’s been married twice since then, both to fairly disastrous results. The first time was right after he and Nat split. Bucky thought if he could just get the pieces of his life back online, everything else would be a dream. 

Of course, it didn’t work like that. Laura was beautiful and smart and kind, but she wasn’t Natasha, and that’s what Bucky wanted. He and Laura managed to meet, marry, and split up, all within eighteen months. He took his time after that, and he and Janie had a good run for a while. But eventually she realized that Bucky wasn’t going to pen a greatest hits album worth of songs about her, and the excitement of touring, being on the road, was not at all what she thought it was going to be. He couldn’t even be mad when he found out she’d been fucking one of the roadies from the opening act’s crew. At least that divorce had a helluva prenup. He still gets a little woozy when he remembers how much his divorce from Laura cost.

Trying to shake himself out of his own blues, he pulls out his phone and sends one last hail mary pass to Steve.

<b> I’ll be at the clubhouse late tonight. I really just want to make sure you’re ok. I know you haven’t talked to the press, and I’m grateful. 

<Steve (Clubhouse)>: I can be there around 1. 

Bucky’s stomach does a flip when he reads the message. 

<Steve>: Will it be safe? No press?

<B> Phil hasn’t let any through yet. Thank you. I’ll see you there.

.

By the time Steve walks in, Bucky’s on his second beer, trying to keep it light and keep a clear head. He thought about waiting until closer to one, but he was worried he’d miss Steve, so he got there early, just to be safe. 

Steve walks in and Bucky can see what he saw in the guy all over again. He’s tall and handsome, striking blonde hair and deep blue eyes: all American beefcake. Just exactly Bucky’s type. He gets a flash of Steve’s abs as he’d curled over Bucky, pressing him into the mattress.    
  


God. 

He takes a stool next to Bucky and signals for Phil, ordering a light beer. They don’t say anything while they wait, but once Phil drops the beer, Bucky figures it’s time to address the elephant in the room.

“Thanks for coming,” he says, and Steve looks at him full on for the first time that night. 

“You must have thought I was the biggest idiot,” Steve says, and Bucky’s taken aback.

“No! Why?” And then he sees the blush creep up Steve’s neck to meet where it’s blooming across his cheeks. “I didn’t think you were an idiot,” Bucky says, remembering his incredulity when Steve asked him to play one of his own songs. “To be honest, it was kind of nice. I don’t get to be nobody that often anymore.”

Steve ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck with one hand, shying away from Bucky’s eyes. “I felt like such an asshole when I found out who you are. Asking you to play one of your own songs. And then...God, the internet. I had to leave work early tonight because people kept coming in just to take pictures of me.”

“What do you do?”

“Bartender. Well, mostly. I paint and write, but bartending is, you know, what pays the bills.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, honestly interested. “What kind of art? What do you write?” 

“Eh, I do some blog posts, some short stories. I’ve sold a few, but you know. Art doesn’t sell unless you’re dead.”

“Well, not always,” Bucky says, and winks and him. This kid is so fresh, young. It makes something inside of Bucky soft and sore, this kid with the whole world waiting for him to discover it; the good and bad. He shines so damn bright. He can’t be more than what, 22? 23?

“Anyway,” Steve says. “I guess you’ll want me to sign something? I don’t mind. I’m not gonna talk to anyone. It’s real shitty the way people act like you owe them something, just because you’re famous. If you wanted to be out, you’d be out already.”

“Hey,” Bucky says, head spinning. “Slow down. I’m not asking you for anything, here, okay? I’m thankful you haven’t talked to the press, but that’s your prerogative, and I’m not here to take it away from you. A head’s up would be nice, but….” Bucky shrugs, thinking back to the early days, and the “friends” who’d sold all his sordid details to the press the first chance they got. God, he’s glad no one knew he was bi back then. “I’ve learned to deal with the consequences of my actions. I’m a big boy.”

“You shouldn’t have to. What they did, it’s despicable.”

Bucky shrugs. In some ways, it’s a relief. How many times has he met a guy, liked the tilt of his smile, the shade of his eyes, only to remind himself that anything more than a couple of nights was out of the question.

Now though...now he has possibilities. He wonders how long he’s gonna kick his own ass over waiting so long. His career’s dead in the water anyway. Might as well try to do...something. 

“Hey,” Steve says. “What’s with the name, anyway?”

Flushing, Bucky gives him a sheepish grin. “My real name is James Buchanan, but my family, close friends, they call me Bucky. 

“Well, despite our, ah, adventures, I don’t think either applies to me.”

Bucky shrugs. “It was just easier. Forgiven?”

Steve’s smile is slow and warm. “Yeah. Of course.”

The two of them make easy conversation for another hour before Steve says he needs to get home. In all the commotion, Bucky forgot how easy it is to talk to Steve. Because even though Steve knows who Bucky is now, nothing’s really changed. He still doesn’t treat Bucky like a wallet or notch on his bedpost, or even his own personal jukebox. It’s nice. 

“Alright,” Bucky says. “Before you go, I wanted to offer...I can give you some security, keep the creeps away ‘til this all dies down.”

The look Steve gives him is incredulous. “I don’t...that won’t be necessary.” 

Shrugging, Bucky says, “Alright. Well, you’ve got my number if you change your mind.”

“Take care of yourself,” Steve says, and there’s something soft and kind around his eyes. 

“Sure,” Bucky answers. “You, too.” 

Their parting embrace is brief, and when it’s done, Steve leaves, Bucky finishes up his drink, and calls it a night. 

That’s that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely, kind reception to this fic. I know it's a bit of slow burn, so I really appreciate you guys sticking in. 
> 
> Next chapter: 
> 
> “Good morning, sunshine. You’re all over the papers again.”
> 
> “Oh, God,” Bucky moans. It’s too early for this. “What now?” An early morning phone call from his manager about unplanned press can never be good. 
> 
> “The Post has a cover photo of you and some guy: young, blonde, very hot. Sound familiar?”


	4. Love is in the Air!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is unbetad. 
> 
> All of my love for deisderium who has given such wonderful support for this fic! I'm so very grateful.

**4.**

**Love is in the Air!**

_ Yesterday we were treated to photos of multi-platinum recording artist Barnes sharing a steamy kiss with an unknown blond hunk! Looks like their romance is in full swing with these new photos of the pair canoodling at Coulson’s Clubhouse, the trendy hipster bar in Brooklyn. Sources close to Barnes say the pair have been inseparable for weeks now. But who is the young stud that Barnes can’t seem to get enough of? Well, dear readers, we won’t leave you hanging! The burley babe goes by the name of Steve Rogers, a bartender whose cocktail chemistry can be sampled at Delancey’s bar, also in Brooklyn. No word yet on how the pair met, or just how long they’ve been smitten. One thing’s for sure: the steamy couple is drawing eyes everywhere they go, and given how close the pair seem to be, we can’t help but wonder just how long this has been going on. Savvy readers will recall that Barnes recently split with fourth wife Jane Andrews just weeks ago. Makes a person wonder! _

.

“Yeah?” Bucky’s still eighty percent asleep, eyes not even open yet as he tries to quiet the insistent ringing of his phone.

“If you wanted to come out with your boyfriend, I would have helped you, you know.” Maria sounds half annoyed, half amused.

“What?” 

“Good morning, sunshine. You’re all over the papers again.”

“Oh, God,” Bucky moans. It’s too early for this. “What now?” An early morning phone call from his manager about unplanned press can never be good. 

“The Post has a cover photo of you and some guy. Young, blonde, very hot. Sound familiar?”

Her words cut right through his early-morning haze. “What?”

“They got the two of you hugging, inside a bar? Was this from last night?”

“Oh, God. Tell me you’re not…”

“Dead serious. Hold on.”

Bucky’s phone buzzes and he opens the text to see a crystal clear photo of him hugging Steve at the bar, then another with the two of them smiling at each other, looking... _ God, _ what is that look on their faces? 

“Oh, fuck.” His heart sinks. This is...this is nothing he wanted in his life. Not one goddamned thing. This is a disaster.

“Hey,” Maria says, voice softening. “It’s going to be okay. Let me make a few calls, we can spin this.”

He doesn’t know what’s worse: the idea that this needs spinning, or the idea that…. “Why the hell would anyone care?”

Maria sighs because it’s a rehash of the same conversation they’ve had, again and again. “You know, you’re still one of the top-selling artists of all time. If you would commit to a tour, we could sell out stadiums in every major city in the nation. Tomorrow.”

It’s an old argument, and one Bucky wishes would die already. They did a stadium tour five years ago, and with it came the press asking questions about new songs. Christ, he hates touring these days. He feels like the biggest fraud alive. He hasn’t written a single in damn near ten years. There’s no way he’d sell out a tour, and at this point, he’s not sure he’d even want to. 

It’s the biggest lie he tells himself, and he tells himself some big ones. 

“Shit. I gotta call Nat. I’ll have to call you back.”

“Fine, fine,” Maria says. “I’ve got a few calls to make myself. Touch base in a few hours, okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbles, already getting up to put some pants on. 

“I mean it, Bucky. We can work with this. By the way, are you dating him? You’ve seen him twice this week.”

“No,” he answers. “No, I was just...checking in on him. You know he offered to sign an NDA. God, he was pissed that the press outed me.”

“Hey,” Maria says, her voice soft. “If this is something more, if you want it to be more, we can make a space for that. I know you--.” She stops, takes a breath, and her voice is even softer. “Everyone deserves someone, Bucky. Even you.”

With a sigh, Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose against the sudden prickling of his eyes. “Thanks,” he chokes out. “It really is nothing.”

“Well, text me his details, whatever you have. I need to know what we’re working with.”

Fuck. Bucky flashes back to full, red lips slowly curving into a grin. “Do we need to drag him into this? He didn’t sign up for this.”

“Anyone who takes you home for the night knows what they’re signing up for.”

“He’s young. He didn’t recognize me.” The words come out softer than he’d like. He can feel the way he’s getting twisted up between shame and protectiveness. 

“Alright,” Maria says. “I hear you. I still need his information, but I’ll try to keep him out of it, okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “I’ll text it over. Hey, thank you.”

“Just doing my job.”

Bucky hangs up knowing that it’s more than that. Maria’s been with him since Susan. She was there for the DUI and the disaster that they’d dubbed “The Divorce Tour.” She was there when he met Nat, through all those golden years, and she was there when that all went to hell, too. She was the one person who’d helped him see a silver lining, the one person who’d been his lifeline, who’d let him use her eyes until he could see straight. 

He knows he’s made her a lot of money over the years, but he also knows she’s earned every damn penny, and then some. 

He has a good life now, and a lot of that is on her. 

If anyone can see him through this, it’s Maria Hill.

.

Sitting down at the piano, Bucky tinks out a few notes before facing it in earnest. There’s something niggling at the back of his mind, a refrain, but it’s like it’s hiding from him, and he has to go out and find it. 

God, he remembers those heady, early days, when the words just wouldn’t stop coming and the melodies arranged themselves. He’d go home after rehearsal and play the old upright in his Ma’s living room, the songs spilling out faster than he could play. He’d get so scared, taking the moment to write down the notes, that he was going to forget something, that the music would disappear. 

It didn’t, not for years and years, but Bucky’s never lost that fire, that urgency to chase the song. He’s also never lost that fear that the music would someday stop coming. Turns out he was right on that one. Each time he tries for something new, Alexander Pierce’s smug face shows up in his mind, and he shuts down any hope of producing something new. 

In the end, it doesn’t really matter, he thinks. He tries to tell himself that anyway. He might not be able to get something new going, but he has everything he’s done in the past. He has those happy albums from when he and Nat were first together, those wild, earnest albums from the early days of the band, hell, even the angry divorce album that he wrote after Susan, each and every one is like an old friend.

Some are a little more friendly than others, these days, he thinks, wincing as his left hand gives him trouble. 

Oh well. He had it good for a long time. He’s got no room for complaints. 

Even now in his dotage, as he refers to it in his mind (only half-joking, because, be serious) he can remember every note, every word. Hell, he can remember every emotion he had when he was writing them. It comes back to him like some kind of sense memory, and sometimes when he’s had a few, and he sits down and plays one of Nat’s songs, he’ll startle to realize that she’s not going to come floating down the staircase, Sofie on her hip, barefoot and looking like five million bucks. Christ, but he’d loved her. 

He’s almost happy when his phone rings, pulling him out of his reminiscing.

“I have a plan,” Maria says, when Bucky answers the phone.

“Well hello to you, too,” Bucky says, settling into one of the big armchairs in the living room. All of the furniture is big and comfortable, nothing like the sleek, stylish numbers that Nat had when she lived here.

“Barnes.”

“Alright,” he says. “What’s the plan?”

“I’ve had calls from Shield and Hydra records this morning. Both are dangling deals for a new record, backed by a tour this fall.”

Bucky’s breath catches. The idea of a deal--even with the strings he knows will be attached--that’s something he hasn’t let himself want in years. “What’s the catch?”

“They need to hear the new material by May first.”

“That’s only two months away!”

“And they want a lot of press with you and your new boyfriend.”

Bucky stills. “My new what now?”

He hears Maria issue a soft sigh. “I had a hunch and played it. They both loved the idea of you coming out as bisexual and being in a committed relationship. It’s more sympathetic.”

Maria gives a short, frustrated huff when Bucky doesn’t respond. “This can be a win,” she says at last. “You being in a relationship short-circuits the inevitable rumours about promiscuity.”

“Yeah, they’ll all just insist I’m gay instead.”

The answering silence confirms what Bucky’s always known to be true, and the biggest reason he’s held off on coming out for so long: it doesn’t matter how many women he’s been with, the fact that he’s been with one man erases all of that, erases his actual sexual identity, and makes him gay.

It’s frustrating, especially because he knows what they’ll say about him and Nat, and how completely wrong they’ll be about it. He can see it now, the way they’ll talk about her being his beard for so long, how they’ll say that his other marriages all ended because he was secretly gay. It’s infuriating, and he wants to punch something.

Instead, he takes a long, deep breath, and then another, and then another. 

It’s none of their business, and it doesn’t matter if they all get it wrong. Natasha knows who he is. Sofie knows who he is. Hell, even the guys in the band know who he is, and who he is  _ isn’t _ who sleeps in his bed at night. 

“I don’t know,” he finally says, and listens as Maria lets the silence play out. “I don’t know that he’ll want to do it. I don’t know anything about him.”

“He’s broke,” Maria says. “Starving artist. Ring any bells?” 

Bucky laughs because when he got the call to sign his first contract, he’d been riding the trains all day trying to catch some sleep thirty minutes at a time. He’d lost his job as a line cook three weeks earlier, lost his apartment when his girl kicked him out, so he’d been walking the streets all night and sleeping on the trains in the day. It took Morita two hours to track him down with the news. 

“I don’t want to use him,” Bucky finally says. 

“I’ll work out a generous contract. Look, you don’t want a new album, new contract, that’s fine, we’ll let it go. I’ll battle the press. But if this is something you want, there’s not going to be a better offer. The least you can do is talk to him and see what he thinks.”

“I’ll try,” he says, because it’s the best he can do. 

“That’s all I ever ask,” Maria says, and hangs up. 

Bucky spends a long minute looking at his phone, trying to work out what exactly to say. He doesn’t figure it out, but in his heart, he knows it doesn’t matter. The idea of a second chance it too much to pass up. 

With a sigh, he gives up, and calls Steve. 

“Bucky?”

“Hi Steve,” he says, and he knows he’s stalling, because how the hell do you ask someone for a favor like this.

“Everything okay? I saw the new pictures. I’m sorry.”

“Eh,” he says. “Comes with the territory. Speaking of, I have a proposition for you.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve asks. There’s just enough flirt in it to make Bucky wish things weren’t so fucked up right now. Just enough to make him wish that he really could proposition Steve, maybe for just one more night.

“Yeah. Can you meet me at my agent’s office tomorrow? She had an idea…”

.

Steve comes into the office, all six-feet-two of him, and Bucky takes just a moment to admire the man in front of him. He’s gorgeous, muscles on top of his muscles, and deep blue eyes that are full of sincerity and...and maybe a little bit of nervousness. 

“Thanks for coming in,” Bucky says, standing up to shake Steve’s had. Steve gives him a nervous smile.

“Yes,” Maria says, “Thank you, Mr….Rogers?” She grins and like that the tension breaks.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, and waves his hand. “You can call me Steve.” 

“Will do,” Maria says with a chuckle. “Anyway, the reason we brought you in is that we understand that this has been disruptive to your life, and we want to help.”

“Maria,” Bucky says, because that’s not entirely true, and Bucky will not mislead this kid. 

She quiets at Bucky’s look and waits for him to proceed.

“What she means is that we have a proposition for you, if you want it.”

“What kind of proposition?” Steve asks, wary.

“We did some research,” Maria answers, jumping back in. “The public is more sympathetic if you and Bucky are in a relationship. Because of all the interest, we’ve had several labels asking about a new album, but a couple have noted that the offer is predicated on the fact that you and Bucky are in a serious relationship, not just dating.”

“But we’re not,” Steve says, shifting in his seat.

“I know,” Bucky says, and reaches out for Steve’s hand, then pulls his hand back. He’s not sure if Steve needs--or wants--his comfort, and the last thing Bucky wants is to be pushy. “They want to know I’m stable, and that I have a muse. Guess they think I work better when I’m in a relationship.”

“Look,” Maria says. “We’re prepared to offer you a contract for employment. You will, for all intents and purposes, pose as Bucky’s love interest. You’ll live in his home, travel with him, offer support at his shows, and give interviews as his significant other. We’ll coach you on handling the press. You’ll sign an NDA not unlike the one you signed just before this meeting, and in exchange we will provide housing, transportation, a new wardrobe, and a generous living allowance, including assuming the mortgage on your current home throughout the life of the contract.”

“What?” Steve looks incredulous, and to Bucky’s eye, maybe a little bit pissed off. 

“We understand,” Maria continues, unphased, “that this will dominate your time. As such, the compensation will be generous. We’re offering two-hundred fifty thousand dollars for the successful completion of the six month contract. The amounts will be prorated if one or the other of you chooses to terminate the contract early. Further, there are bonuses built in for your participation in various events, and,” she pauses, and gives Bucky a meaningful look.

“And,” Bucky says, “there’s no sex. I don’t want you thinking that it’s some unspoken part of the agreement. If, for some reason we end up in bed, it’s gonna cost me an extra twenty-five grand, payable to the charity of your choice, so believe me, I’m motivated to be a gentleman.”

“You’re gonna pay me to be your fake boyfriend,” Steve says. “And pretend that I like you.” He pauses and gives Bucky a long, speculative look. “Isn’t there...you could…”

Bucky hears where this is going and he hates it because he knows the answer. He rolls one shoulder in a shrug. “There isn’t anyone else in my life, and if this is going to work, it has to be you. You’re the one in the pictures.”

Steve rests his hands on his thighs and looks down at his lap. It’s too much, Bucky should have known this was a ridiculous scheme. He never should have agreed to go along with it. It’s just--it’s just--he likes Steve.

He  _ likes _ him. 

Steve is forthright and sincere, in a way that makes Bucky think this world is going to chew him up and spit him out if he doesn’t have someone on his side that’s looking out for him. It’s not that he doesn’t think Steve can take care of himself, it’s that he doesn’t think Steve should have to.

“Look,” Bucky says, breaking the silence. “We did a background check on you when the story broke--” and at Steve’s sharp look, Bucky holds up his hands--”just to be sure we knew what we were dealing with. It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to blackmail me. It’s just part of the job.”

“That’s...shitty.”

Bucky shrugs. “It comes with the turf. Anyway, I...it seems like you need the money,” Bucky says, and doesn’t miss the way Steve’s eyes narrow. “And I could really use the good press. I get it if you’re not willing, but I was just thinking--hoping--maybe we can help each other out.” 

Steve looks at Bucky, just looks, long enough for Bucky to start to feel uncomfortable. 

Maria clears her throat, and Bucky suddenly remembers that she’s in the room. God, this kid. 

“You need to take this to a lawyer, have them review the terms and be sure you understand it. We’ll pay the fees, but you can’t use Bucky’s team. I can refer you to a couple of firms in town.”

“You don’t--I have an attorney,” Steve says, and Bucky’s eyebrows rise. “She handled my mom’s estate,” he says and Bucky feels shitty all over again. The background check revealed that Steve’s an orphan, with no siblings. He knows the terms of the contract are generous, but he still feels a little shady, like he’s taking advantage. He knows that Steve is deep underwater on his mortgage, something Bucky’s sure Steve would hate him knowing, They haven’t spent a lot of time together, but Bucky’s guessing Steve’s got a prideful streak a mile wide.

“Great,” Maria says. “Go ahead and have them bill us directly. My contact information is on the cover letter.” She packs up the contract and cover, and slides it into an envelope before handing it off to Steve. “Once everything’s signed, we should meet again to go over the specifics. Is this weekend too soon to move in? I want to get the movers scheduled today, and we’ll need to book you into a salon, take you shopping...well. We’ll get to all that soon enough.”

Steve gapes at Maria, eyes bugging out of his head. “I haven’t said yes.”

Maria glances up at him, sees the look on his face, then softens. “Talk to your attorney, take the day to think about it.” She writes something down on a post-it and passes it to Steve. “Call me in the morning with your decision.” 

“That’s it?” Steve asks, looking between Bucky and Maria. 

“For now,” she says, and nods, then goes back to typing something on her laptop. 

Steve looks a little bit lost, and Bucky can only imagine how disorienting all of this must be. He went from some guy trying to burn off a lonely night to ending up the center of every gossip site’s attention. 

“Hey,” Bucky says. “Lemme walk you out.” 

Steve nods and Bucky follows him to the elevator, stopping once they get there, but neither of them presses the call button.

“I know this is a lot. I know it. I want you to really think about it, but I also want you to say yes. Seemed like we get on okay, and other than having to pretend you like me for a few months, there’s some pretty good perks. Lotta travel coming up, and if everything works out, we could end up at the VMA’s. Plus, you know, wardrobe, that sort of thing. It could be fun.”

Steve gives him a long look and Bucky tries not to squirm under it. “Would you have called?” he finally asks. “Before--you know--all this. Would you have called?”

Shit. Bucky knows the right answer and Bucky knows the true answer, and he’s never been much good at lying to anyone other than himself. “I like you, Steve,” he says. “I had a good time with you, but I don’t know if I would have called, and now I’ll never know. Everything’s changed.”

“It’s about image now,” Steve says slowly. “That’s why the no sex.”

Bucky’s not really sure what that look in Steve’s eye means. He shrugs. “The no sex is because this is work now. You’re not that much older than my kid, and, and, because you’re gonna thank me some day for not making this all worse than it is. There’s already gonna be a lot of pressure,” Bucky says. “I’m not gonna add to it.” 

“But what if we both want it? I thought we hit it off pretty well.” 

This kid. Jesus. What the hell is Bucky supposed to do with that? 

“Steve,” he says, and catches himself reaching out, only to pull away at the last second. “This life...it’s crazy. I chose it, and I love it, but it gets to be too much for even me sometimes. It absolutely will for you. Adding sex--even if we’re just hooking up--it’s such a bad idea. You come out on the other end of this, you’re gonna thank me that we don’t have some messy romance to clean up, I promise you. It’d be easy to romanticize things, but this has to be a business arrangement, nothing more.”

Steve studies him for a moment and Bucky has no idea what he’s thinking. He’s honestly surprised at the turn this conversation took. Sure, they’d hooked up, but Bucky didn’t chalk that up to anything more than two people looking to scratch an itch. The way Steve’s looking at him right now though...it’s like he can see right through Bucky, see everything he’s ever tried to hide. 

It makes him feel naked, and he wants to cover up.

Then Steve blinks, and the moment is gone. 

“I’ll have my attorney look these over,” Steve says. “If everything’s in order, I’ll sign.”

“Why?” Bucky asks, the word bubbling out him before he can stop it, surprising him with its honesty.

“I--” Steve starts, and then stops himself. “Does it matter? I’ll sign.”

“Okay. I--thank you. I’m gonna do my best to make it a good experience.”

“I’m not worried. Besides, I’m always saying I wish I had more time for my portfolio.”

“That’s right,” Bucky says, smiling. “I’d love to see your work, sometime.”

Steve smiles at him, soft and open. “I’d love to show you.”

Bucky feels his answering grin spread across his face, and something light flies loose inside of him, buoying his smile. For the first time since all this started, he’s starting to feel like everything will be okay. 

.

The next day, Steve calls Bucky with a decision, and a caveat. 

“I talked to my lawyer and I thought it over, and I’m going to say yes, but.”

“Well there’s always a ‘but,’” Bucky says. “Let’s have it.”

“I get a week off in July.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want a week off the contract. No rules about where I go or what I do, no reporting in.”

Bucky scratches his head, trying to figure out Steve’s angle. “I mean, if you need a break, sure. Are you asking for that?”

“I’m asking for two separate start and stop dates for the contract, with a break in July.”

“Look, I appreciate that it’s a lot, but if you break the contract in July, and you’re snapped by the press getting it on with someone else, that kind of defeats the purpose, you know?”

He listens as Steve makes a frustrated sound before speaking. “I’m not--that’s not why I want the out. Look,” he says. “I just want a couple of days over my birthday to hang out with my friends and not have to worry about what I’m supposed to be doing. You seem like a good guy,” Steve says, his tone softening. “I’m sure you’d let me have the time off, but my lawyer said I should get it in writing.”

“Well let’s just stipulate that you have those days off.”

“No,” Steve says. “Even if we do that, I’ll know i’m still being paid, I’ll know the rules still apply. I couldn’t--I just want a couple of days to relax,” he says. “Please.”

Breathing deep, Bucky scrubs the back of his neck and paces over to the windows. “You get snapped with someone else, even if it’s innocent, that’s not what it’ll look like. The press, they know how to make a mountain out of a mosquito bite. They’ll ruin us both if we let them.”

“Look,” Steve says, voice going intimate. “I know you don’t have any reason to believe me, but I don’t really do casual hook-ups, so.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky asks.

“That was...an exception.”

“So I’m an exception?” Bucky says, voice teasing. “We’ll ain’t that good to know. I am exceptional.”

“Oh, shut up,” Steve says, but he’s laughing and that’s what Bucky was going for. “Do we have a deal?”

“The lawyer’s are gonna have a problem with it,” Bucky says. “They probably won’t give you the full week, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“I--thank you,” Steve breathes. “This is,” and then Bucky hears Steve take a deep breath and let it out, and he remembers what this arrangement might mean for Steve, financially. It could make a huge impact on his future, his chances at getting the kind of life he wanted for himself, and not the kind of life his circumstances put into play.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Have your attorney make the changes and send ‘em back. I’ll talk to Maria.”

After he hangs up, Bucky wonders at the risk he’s taking. This could all be a set up, but he doesn’t think so. Steve could be the kind of guy who’ll cut and run after the first malicious story in the Post, or he might be the kind of guy who goes out and gets wasted and laid in full view of the public.

But Bucky doesn’t think so. He thinks Steve might...might actually be a good guy.

Hell, how long since he’s seen one of them? It’s a wonder he can even recognize decency in another human. He sure as fuck didn’t recognize treachery when he saw it in Pierce.

With a sigh, he pours himself another glass of wine and sits out in the cold night air. His hand’ll give him hell for it later, but for right now, the bracing temperature is just what he needs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so grateful to all of you who are supporting this fic. It's been a loooong time writing and I really appreciate your kind words. <3 
> 
> You can find me on twitter @chicklette_


	5. 5. On the Move!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very much love to Deisderium for her beta reading and cheerleading! I am so very grateful to have her help on this story. <3

**5.**

**On the Move!**

_ Don’t look now folks, but a moving van has been spotted at the residences of both Steve Rogers and James Barnes. While Barnes’ team hasn’t yet issued a statement, those in the know say the pair have been inseparable since the news broke. Is this the happily ever after Barnes has been searching for? Stay tuned!  _

Three days later, Steve moves in. Bucky spends the morning fussing around the master suite, going to the adjoining guest room and ensuring that everything is just so. He’d spent a couple of hours online picking out clothes and toiletries and bedding, and he knows that as they speak, Steve is with one of Maria’s assistants at Barney’s buying the rest of his new wardrobe. If they’re going to sell this, Steve’s gotta look the part.

The movers brought over startlingly little: A handful of boxes (that Bucky resolutely did NOT open, despite his ever-growing curiosity about Steve). They’ve passed a couple of text messages between them, mostly logistics, but Steve sent a couple of memes Bucky’s way as well. 

He chuckles, looking at the last one. He’s not sure what it says that Steve and Sofie would get on like a house on fire. At least they’d agreed to keep his exposure to Sofie minimal. Bucky has no interest dragging her into his farce. He’d been up front with her and Nat, and boy wasn’t that a conversation. In the end though, they’d both understood, or at least said they did. 

Nat was good about it. She’d been good about things when they’d split, agreeing to keeping up appearances for a while. Sometimes Bucky thinks it’s the least she could do, but usually he thinks he deserves most of the blame. You can’t be on the road like he was, be in the spotlight, and expect your family to just be waiting for you when you get home. That’s just not how it works.

When Steve texts that he’s on his way, Bucky takes one last look around the suite. He hopes that Steve likes it. Once upon a time, it was Sofie’s room, back when she was little. Nat wanted quick access, so they’d made some changes to the house, making the master bathroom a cut through to the nursery. As Sofie grew, so did the room, until it was spacious, but cozy, a set of window seats looking out over the water, loads of natural light, and a closet befitting the child of Natasha Romanova. 

He looks to the nook where he’s had a few things delivered. He’d had no idea what he’d been buying, but he’s hoping the gesture counts for something.

God, this life. 

When he hears a commotion at the front door, Bucky gives himself a quick glance in the mirror. He looks...he doesn’t even know. He looks like himself, but maybe a little more worn than he used to. He’s wearing a soft, cream-colored sweater and his favorite jeans. He looks maybe a little scruffy, and he probably should have shaved, but overall, not so bad.

He catches himself then, and chides himself. Who’s he kidding? He gives Steve about three weeks before the “glamour” of Bucky’s lifestyle wears thin, and he starts seeing Bucky for who he is: an aging has-been and nothing more. 

He gives himself one good shake and then heads downstairs. 

It’s showtime. 

He gives Steve the extended tour, showing him the kitchen and living room, the piano room and library. The library’d been Nat’s idea, but after she’d gone, Bucky found he’d enjoyed the quiet space. It’s good for thinking, and if he’s being honest, it’s good for drinking, too. 

Bucky explains that nothing’s off limits, but if he’s going to be around while Bucky’s playing, that it’s best if he keeps quiet and keeps to himself. He’s better about it than he used to be, having a kid’ll do that to you, but being interrupted while he’s working is the fastest way to light Bucky’s fuse. 

He shows Steve to the garage and gives him the code for the key bank. Bucky’s got a couple of cars and a motorcycle down there, and he doesn’t miss for a second the way Steve’s face lights up when he asks if they can go out of the bike one day. If this was a different thing, Bucky’d already have a helmet on the kid, letting him squeeze in close as Bucky mans the machine. 

Instead, he promises that at some point they’ll take the bike out, and Steve seems satisfied with that. Then it’s back up, past the living area, and into the bedrooms. Bucky points to his room and shows Steve that they’re connected via the bathroom. Bucky suggests that they both keep their door to the bathroom closed, and figures if they both knock before entering, everyone can have their own privacy. Bucky doesn’t take Steve on a tour of the master suite, and Steve doesn’t ask, and that’s probably just right. 

Then he shows Steve down the hall to where Sofie’d moved a few years back. She lives at Nat’s for the most part, and had asked for something smaller and homier, so wife number three oversaw the renovations, and Sofie hasn’t asked for anything different since. 

“I don’t know if you two will spend much time together,” Bucky says, gesturing to a photograph of Sofie and Bucky that hangs on the wall. Sofie’s maybe four, and sitting on Bucky’s lap as he presses one of her little fingers against the keys. It’s probably his favorite photograph of himself. 

“She knows what’s going on, so you don’t have to pretend with her,” Bucky continues.    
“But I’d rather keep her out of it as much as possible.”

“Of course,” Steve says. “I’m...I’m kind of relieved. I really didn’t like the idea of lying to your kid. Other people, that’s one thing, but a kid.”

“Yeah, well,” Bucky says, then pauses. “Between us, my ex’d have my balls if I tried to pull something like that with Sofie.” He pauses, then leans into Steve. “As well she should.”

Steve smiles, something with a little co-conspiration in it, and Bucky finds himself smiling back, easy. 

“Alright,” he says. “Saved your room for last.” He opens the door wide and stands back as Steve walks in.

“Bucky,” he says, eyes darting everywhere, “Wow.” He takes in everything: the bay windows, the huge bed, the vast number of shopping bags piled high on top of it. 

“I got you a few things,” Bucky says with a shrug. “I know it’s a lot, but if you’re gonna have to do all this press, I figure at least you can be comfortable. We can spend some time tomorrow going over the schedule. I’ve got a bunch of appearances coming up, and you’ll need to be there, but you shouldn’t anticipate talking to the press much. You’ll mostly be hanging out backstage. We just want pictures of you with me, you know?”

“Oh,” Steve says. “Yeah. Maria said I’ll need to meet with a consultant tomorrow?”

Bucky watches as the shine dims a little for Steve, and while he’s sorry to see it, he also knows that it’s for the best. Bucky can see the romance of the situation, but at the end of the day, they’re both here doing a job. It’s best if neither of them loses sight of that fact. 

“Yeah. She’s gonna go over how to handle the press. Apparently, there’s a way to tell them to fuck off while still being charming. Not that I ever learned it,” he says, and shrugs. “Anyway, take some time, get settled in. Come down when you’re ready and we’ll order some dinner, okay?”

“Sure,” Steve says. 

Bucky starts for the door and then stops when Steve lets out a yelp. 

“Bucky,” he breathes, then turns to look at Bucky with wide eyes. “What is all this?”

“Oh,” Bucky says, shrugging. “You said you were an artist. I guess the room gets good light.”

“This is…” Steve trails off, running his fingertip over the top of the easel that Bucky’d had delivered along with a host of supplies: a couple of canvases, some oil paints, watercolors, charcoals and sketch books, just about everything Bucky could think of. There’s also a new phone and laptop, both of them encrypted and set up on Bucky’s secure network, but Bucky’s waiting until after dinner to give him those. 

“Bucky, I don’t know what to say.”

Shrugging, Bucky says, “It’s really nothing, Steve. I don’t--I know this is turning your life upside down. It seems like the least I can do, you know?” 

Steve smiles at him, and it’s soft and grateful, and Bucky kind of hates a world that would make a man like this look so grateful over so little. He kind of hates a world that could put a decent guy like Steve in a position of needing to take Bucky’s offer to begin with. 

“Come on down when you’re ready,” Bucky says. “No rush, okay?”

“Sure,” Steve says, and Bucky leaves him to it. 

A few hours later, Bucky’s in the living room reading over some contracts. He’s wearing reading glasses, the kind that Nat says make him look very handsome, but that make him atually feel old as fuck. He’s trying to keep an ear out for Steve, and he’s trying to concentrate on the pages in front of him, but really he’s so deep inside of his own head that he can’t focus on anything at all. When he finally hears Steve padding down the stairs, he gets up from the couch with something like relief.

How the fuck is he supposed to write an entire album’s worth of music if this is where he’s at?

“Hey,” Steve calls, peeking his head into the living room.

“Hey, there you are,” Bucky replies. “All unpacked?” He mentally groans at himself.    
Why does he feel so damned awkward? 

“Yeah,” Steve answers, looking unphased. “I wasn’t--did I keep you waiting?”

“No! Not at all. I was just going through contracts,” he says. “Learned pretty early on to read the fine print, you know?”

Steve shrugs and nods, but doesn’t say anything.

“Uh, anyway,” Bucky says, and starts toward the kitchen. “We got a bunch of places that deliver, what are you in the mood for?”

When he looks back over his shoulder, Steve’s got his phone out and he’s thumbing through it. “Any place you recommend?” he asks, glancing up from his phone. “I mean, are there special places…?”

Bucky grins, getting at what the kid is asking. “Nah, we get delivery same as anyone, but if it’s after 9, we gotta walk down to the front gate ourselves to get it.”

“Oh,” Steve says. “That’s right, there was a guy…”

“Fermin and sometimes Gus. They work the front gate, take deliveries, keep out some of the...”

“Crazies?”

“You never call a fan crazy,” Bucky says. “But yeah. They do a great job, but honestly I got no need for someone overnight, you know?” 

Steve nods, and Bucky goes on. “Fermin’s wife, Blanca, she comes in a couple of times a week to clean, but the day to day stuff is on us.”

“Oh, you don’t--I figured you’d have a housekeeper?”

“It’s just me, you know? I don’t need a staff, and if I want to wander around in my shorts, I can, and won’t have to worry about running into Blanca, or anyone else.”

Steve nods. “Okay, well, I’m a pretty good dishwasher,” he says. “But outside of making coffee, I’m a terrible cook. Mom tried to teach me,” he smiles, “I don’t know how many times, but it never stuck. She always said I could burn water.”

Bucky laughs. “Meanwhile, I learned to cook out of self defence. Ma was a terrible cook,” he says. 

Steve’s smiling over at him, and Bucky’s glad to see it. He doesn’t know--or need to know--how affected Steve was by his mother’s passing. Bucky’s just glad to see that he can remember her with a smile on his face. He remembers when his own mother passed and how hard that had been.

Growing up, she’d been his rock: She stood up against George Barnes and his preconceived notions of masculinity, and insisted that Bucky be allowed to take piano lessons. She’d picked up extra shifts at the diner to pay for them, and encouraged him with everything she had. When he was older, she’d taken him back in every time he fell on his ass, and the first thing he did when he signed his first record contract was buy a shiny new Mustang and pay off her mortgage. 

She’d been his biggest champion his whole life, encouraging him, tethering him when the fame started going to his head, and holding his hand through his triumphs and hurts. When he finally bought his boat, he named it “Winnie’s Triumph,” and took her out on it for its maiden voyage. 

Losing her a few years back was a blow, but he knows she’d be proud of him now. She was one of the few people in his life who knew he was bisexual, and she was one of the few people in his life to encourage him to go public. He smiles, thinking about what she’d say to him now. 

Bucky makes chit chat with Steve through the rest of dinner, and when they’re done, they go over schedules for the week. Steve’s got meetings with the PR team for most of the week during the day, and Bucky’s got his own PR meetings, as well as a conference call with the Howlies to loop them in, and then on Thursday they fly to California for one of the late night talk shows. Maria’s talking about getting Bucky on as the musical guest for SNL, but that feels like a little more PR than he’s willing to take on at the moment, so he’s hoping they don’t bite. 

They wrap up dinner and tidy up, and Bucky heads back to the piano while Steve goes upstairs to his room. 

That night, Bucky lays in bed and listens to the distant noise of Steve moving around in his room. There’s a part of him that relaxes a little. He hadn’t even realized how much he’s missed the quiet sounds of another person in his space. 

The loneliness of his life hits him hard sometimes: deep and sharp enough to make him gasp. He just wants...he wants what most people want. He wants to climb into someone’s lap; he wants to be held. He wants soft kisses in his hair and waking up to someone he knows, someone he trusts, there in his arms. He wants to know the smell of them. 

Turning over with a sigh, he closes his eyes and reaches for sleep. He knows that the coming week will be hectic, and he knows that at the end of it, the interviews that he’ll have to give are going to push public perception either for or against him. He knows that his future as a working musician probably depends on how well he sells himself. It’s disconcerting.

Still, as Bucky falls asleep that night, he can’t help but feel that for the first time in years, maybe everything could finally turn around for him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are able, please consider a donation to one the following organizations to help fight racism and stand for equality (I would add links but I don't think we're allowed to via the AO3 ToS):  
> Black Visions Collective  
> The Bail Project  
> The National Bail Out  
> The Unicorn Riot


	6. Flying High!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deisderium noticed that I was missing commas and gave me some while STILL cheer-leading hard. I'm *very* grateful. 
> 
> This chapter was hard to split up, so I didn't. It's bit longer than the others.

**_Flying High_ **

_ Dedicated New Yorker Barnes was caught landing at LAX on Friday, with boy-toy Steve Rogers in tow. The pair were adorable as they made their way through the crowded airport and into the darkened back seat of a Town Car. Are the pair seeking a Los Angeles home? Or is Barnes finally ready to make the rounds of the talk shows? Only time will tell. Rumor has it the pair can’t keep their hands off of each other. At least in public they’re keeping it PG! No word yet from a certain red-headed icon, but those close to the situation say she’s devastated.  _

Bucky’s prediction is true: The week is hectic. Each day, he meets with the PR team to fine-tune his message, and in the afternoons and evenings, he’s rehearsing with the band. Sometimes he catches Steve and the two of them having a late dinner. He asks how Steve’s day is and Steve just says it’s fine, or now and then will ask if Maria’s really serious with some of her suggestions.

At night he falls into easy dreams, the dim light from under Steve’s door reminding him that he’s not alone. 

Before he knows it, it’s Friday and they’re flying out to LA. As their plane swings out over the Pacific on its approach to LAX, Bucky leans over Steve’s dozing form to look out of the window. 

“Hey,” he says, nudging Steve. “Look.” 

Steve startles awake, and then looks out of the window, his whole face transforming with wonder. 

“Oh my god,” he says. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. I always loved the view coming into LA.” 

“Oh my god,” Steve says again. “Is that...that can’t be….”

“Oh, hey,” Bucky says, finally catching what Steve’s seeing. “Yeah, looks like it’s migration season.”

“I can’t believe I’m actually seeing a whale. This is amazing.” He stares out of the window until the plane turns, dropping altitude and making its final approach. “Thank you,” Steve says, turning to look at Bucky. “I never would have seen that if not for you.”

“Geez,” Bucky says, flushing and turning away. “Just good luck,” he mumbles. He feels a little shamed over how grateful Steve’s been acting, thanking Bucky for every little thing throughout the day. 

“Really,” Steve says, and reaches out to take Bucky’s hand. “I’m getting to see so many new things, and it’s down to you. I just want you to know I appreciate it.”

Bucky gives him a tight smile, but leaves their hands squeezed together. “That’s--real nice of you,” he says. “Anyway, once we land we’ll head straight to the studio. We’ll have clothes there and we can relax a little in the green room.”

Steve grins. “Green room. Not gonna lie, I’m pretty excited.”

“Good,” Bucky says. “Soak it all up. In a few months you’re gonna hate it.”

Instead of answering, Steve just smiles. 

By the time Bucky’s ready for his appearance, Steve’s had his fill of the green room’s amenities. He was  _ charmingly _ dismayed that the room wasn’t actually green, and once hair and makeup left, the two of them got together to go over any talking points, should that come up.

“I’m gonna be on stage, but Thor’s pretty unpredictable as a host, so he might see you backstage and drag you out. You okay with that?”

“Uh, wow,” Steve replies. “I didn’t think. Uh.” He looks around the room and wipes his hands on his jeans. “Yeah,” he says, collecting himself. “I’ll be fine.”

“Great,” Bucky replies. He could do a little more hand-holding here, but Steve’s a grown man and he’s been prepped by Bucky’s team, so Bucky decides to let it go. 

A moment later, there’s a knock on the door and Thor pops his head in. 

“Barnes! It’s been too long!” he says, wrapping Bucky in a big hug. Now, Bucky’s not a small guy. He tops out at an even six feet, and while he’s no muscle head, he does okay. Thor though, Thor makes Bucky feel like he’s a 98-pound weakling. He’s more muscular than Steve, and taller too. 

“Geez,” Bucky says, once his feet touch the floor again. “Someone’s been eating their Wheaties!”

Thor’s laugh is thunderous and it goes miles toward calming Bucky’s nerves. 

“It’s good to see you after so long, friend.”

Bucky shrugs and smiles. “I really appreciate you having me tonight. It means a lot.”

“You’re only wishing Oprah had come out of retirement for this.”

Laughing, Bucky shakes his head. “You know you were my first call.”

“I’m touched,” Thor says, and Bucky believes him. “So what are you hoping to get out of this?”

Shrugging, Bucky looks down at his feet. “I was hoping to get control of the narrative, and, you know, still having a career when the dust settles would be nice.”

“Now that is something I don’t think you’ll ever have to worry about. I haven’t checked the schedule, are you playing as well?”

“Just a short one, if there’s time.”

“I always have time for you, friend,” Thor says, and then looks past Bucky and catches sight of Steve. “Oh, and who is this?”

And this is it. This is the first time he’s going to look a friend in the face and lie to them about who Steve is. 

He  _ hates _ it. 

Before he can open his mouth though, Steve gets up from the couch and walks over. 

“I’m Steve Rogers. I’m Bucky’s partner,” he says, and puts out his hand to shake.

“Ah! So you’re the infamous Steven!” Thor says, taking his hand. He’s smiling and his tone is kind, and Bucky feels relieved. “I’m very happy to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“Well then,” Thor says. “On with the show.”

After he leaves, Bucky exhales, trying to calm his own nerves. 

“He seems nice,” Steve says, turning to look at Bucky.

“He is,” Bucky replies. “He’s great.” He can hear his nerves in his voice, in the way he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, but he can’t quite seem to calm himself. His mind is already twenty minutes into the future, thinking about what Thor might say, and how he might reply. So much is riding on this one appearance. Maria had originally tried to steer Bucky toward Ellen or Cordon, both of whom have been extremely friendly toward Bucky in the past, but Thor...he might not be number one in the ratings, but no one knows how to sway an audience like Thor. He’s insanely charismatic. 

“Hey,” Steve says, and pulls Bucky into a hug he didn’t even know he needed. “You’re going to be great out there.”

Bucky lets himself be held for a moment before pulling away. A few minutes later, there’s a knock at the door, and then Bucky’s walking onto the stage, listening to the audience clap and yell, and it goes straight to his veins, just like it always has. 

Waving, Bucky takes a seat and waits with Thor for the audience to die down. When they finally do, he turns to Thor, who smiles at him before leaning forward on his elbows and resting his head on his hands.

“So,” he says, with a mischievous grin on his face. “What’s new?”

The question is so blunt and unexpected that it startles a laugh out of Bucky, and once he starts, there goes the audience. 

It’s genius and Bucky feels blindsided with a wave of gratitude, both for Thor for knowing exactly how to diffuse the situation, and for the universe at large for giving him...this. 

As the laughter dies down, Bucky smiles and winks out at the audience. “Oh,” he replies. “Nothing much.”

It sets the audience off all over again, and Bucky and Thor both crack up. From just over Thor’s shoulder, Bucky can see Steve in the wings, and his grin is wide and bright, and Bucky feels himself relax all over. He’s always been good with the audience, and when he looks out past the lights, he sees smiling faces. He’s got this. 

“Well, now that that’s cleared up,” Thor says, and straightens in his seat. The audience laughs again and Bucky knows it’s time to get down to business. 

With a slight nod to Thor, Bucky readies himself for the interview. 

“You’ve been in the news lately,” Thor starts. “Is that why you’re here today?”

Bucky shrugs. “Yeah,” he says. “I wanted to set the record straight, since everyone seems to be making guesses about my love life.”

“Yes,” Thor says, nodding. “I understand that some photos were taken…?”

“Boy, were they,” Bucky answers. “I’ve always been bisexual, and the people closest to me know that. But, I wasn’t ready to be out to the public. To me, my sexuality is the least interesting thing about me, so why talk about it, you know?”

Thor nods. 

“But I was leaving my boyfriend’s house and someone snapped some pictures and published them. And it’s not okay,” he goes on, really starting to process everything that happened. “I’m a big boy, and I can take being outed against my will, but that doesn’t make it okay. And it makes me worry for younger people, or folks who might not be safe being out. What kind of message does this send? If people want to talk about their sexuality, it should be on their own terms. No one should have to go through this.”

“And by this, you mean…”

“I mean this right here. No one should have to go on television to talk about their sex life. And we shouldn’t assume people are straight, even if they’ve been in heterosexual relationships. And we shouldn’t speculate that someone who’s bi is actually gay and afraid of coming out, or worse, experimenting. You know how insulting that is?”

The look on Thor’s face softens and Bucky wonders if he’s remembering that time that they hooked up, years and years ago, when Bucky was still hurting over Nat and Thor hadn’t yet met Jane. 

“So I wasn’t going to say anything. But then,” he continues, “I thought about all the people who might be struggling with their own sexuality, and, I mean, the cat’s out of the bag, so I figured I might as well go on record about it.” Bucky shrugs again and the audience applauds like crazy. 

Thor gives Bucky an empathetic smile. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

When they break for commercial, the stage hands set up a piano and the audience goes wild all over again. Bucky sits down and thinks about what to play while he runs a scale. He could make a statement, he knows, but in the end, he chooses a fan favorite, a cheery rocker that has the whole audience clapping and cheering along. 

When Bucky walks backstage, Steve is there with a big smile and huge hug. “You were awesome,” Steve says into Bucky’s neck. 

Bucky brushes his cheek with a kiss as they part, and the two of them head back to the green room. Bucky knows that Thor’s given him a standing dinner invite, but he’s finding himself anxious to get away from people, to get into his own headspace for a little while.

“You okay if we get out of here?” he asks, and Steve nods. 

“Lead the way.”

.

By the time they get to the hotel, Bucky’s called ahead to order dinner sent up and he’s glad. He usually likes LA alright; the food is terrific at any rate, and the warm spring nights are a helluva nice change from New York this time of year. 

But sitting in a public place is going to rub Bucky all kinds of wrong, so he’s thrilled when they get to the room to see housekeeping setting dinner at the table. 

“I hope you don’t mind not going out,” Bucky says, sitting at the table and corking the bottle of wine.

“Not a problem for me,” Steve says, placing his napkin over his lap.

“I promise I’m not gonna keep you cooped up all the time.”

“Hey,” Steve says, reaching over to take Bucky’s hand in his. “Tonight was a big deal. It’s okay to need some time to process. I don’t mind staying in. To be honest, I’m kind of a homebody. Always have been.”

Bucky can’t help but smile at Steve, at how easy he’s being. He knows that he’s paying Steve for a service, but also, it’s nice. If Steve was a date, Bucky knows they’d be out right now, being seen. It’s nice to not have to be on all the time, especially now. 

With another grin at Steve, Bucky takes the lid from his dish and digs in.

It’s not until they’re done with dinner that they realized they’ve got a problem. Steve heads toward the bathroom for a shower and pauses on his way there, then comes back out to the living room.

“Is...there a second bedroom?”

Shaking his head, Bucky says, “No, I don’t--oh, shit.” When the realization washes over him, he can’t help but feel anxious all over again. 

Steve on the other hand is already starting to laugh, a big, booming thing, with one hand thrown over his chest. “There was only one bed,” he says, barely getting the words out around his laughter. 

“Glad you think it’s funny,” Bucky says, but he’s laughing as well. 

“Oh, come on,” Steve says. “This is comedy gold. God, Sam would have a field day with this.”

“Har har,” Bucky says, but he’s already trying to figure out what to do.

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve says, still smiling. He grabs a pillow from the bed. “I don’t mind taking the couch.”

“Oh, come on,” Bucky replies. “You can’t sleep on that. You’ll throw your back out.”

“It’s just one night,” Steve says. “I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t--we can share the bed,” Bucky says, before his brain catches up with his mouth. “Not, you know, like that.” God, he can feel himself blushing. “Just, you know, I can’t let you sleep on the couch, and I’m sure as hell not taking it.”

“Buck, I don’t mind,” Steve says. His face is so earnest. God, was Bucky ever that young?

Catching himself before his mind wanders too far, Bucky takes a step back and holds up both hands. “I’m happy to share the bed. We’re gonna run up against this a lot in the coming months. I can’t exactly book my boyfriend into his own room. That said, if you’ll be more comfortable on the couch, that’s entirely up to you. I promise to be a gentleman.”

Steve looks at Bucky, the bed, and the couch, and Bucky can see him weighing his decision.

“I guess we can try,” Steve says. 

Shrugging, Bucky says, “Your call. I’m gonna take a shower.” Walking to his suitcase, Bucky grabs a few things and heads to the bathroom. He’s suddenly dying to wash the day off his skin. 

The idea of having Steve in his bed definitely strikes a chord of want, deep in his gut, but Bucky knows that therein lies madness. So, he very deliberately does not think about Steve as the hot water sluices over his skin. He does not think about broad shoulders or muscled thighs as he soaps himself up, and he very definitely does not think about blonde-tipped lashes framing dark blue eyes. 

By the time he gets out of the shower, he’s got a frisson of nervousness running down his spine. He likes Steve: Steve seems like a really good guy. But one of Bucky’s favorite ways to unwind is through sex, and sharing his bed with two hundred pounds of beefcake isn’t going to do his libido any favors. 

Plus, there’s no way around it: this is awkward as hell. 

Bucky pulls on a pair of pajama bottoms, thankful that he’d remembered to pack them. He prefers to sleep just in his shorts, but he’s willing to make concessions. 

Steve passes him as he’s leaving the bathroom. “You steal covers like you steal showers?” he asks, and Bucky laughs. 

“Geez, sorry about that.” 

Steve gives him a good natured smile. “Just teasing,” he says, and walks into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. 

Okay, he thinks to himself. You can get through this.

By the time Steve is out of the shower, Bucky’s in bed, very much keeping to his side. It looks like there’s a mile of bed between them, and when Steve slides under the covers, the mile remains. So, okay. They can do this.

Eventually, they turn out the light and each lays on their side, backs to one another, all but gripping the edge of the bed. Bucky waits, and waits, and waits, but his mind is racing, and he can’t fall asleep.

“This is so awkward,” Steve whispers, and Bucky barks out a laugh.

“God, you’re not kidding.”

“Would it--would it be weirder if we cuddle?”

“I don’t...know?”

“Okay,” Steve says, and then turns over and moves toward the center of the bed. “Just...come here.”

Bucky sees what Steve has in mind and scoots back, coming to rest up against Steve’s body. 

“I always sleep better with someone else,” Steve says. 

Bucky takes a moment to digest that, stopping himself from wondering just how many people Steve’s had in his bed. He knows it doesn’t matter, but it does make him feel a little like a notch on a bedpost. 

Before he can really work himself up into feeling some kind of way about it, he finds himself sliding into sleep, carried there by warm skin at his back, and Steve’s steady breathing. 

When he wakes, it’s morning, and he’s all alone on his side of the bed. He can hear the shower running in the bathroom, and when he opens his eyes, he can see a steaming cup of coffee on the night table. 

Maybe this isn’t so terrible after all. 

It’s the only thought he has before he checks his phone for reactions. There’s the usual assortment of homophobes, and an equal amount of speculation that this is Bucky’s soft coming out as gay, which of course makes his blood boil. 

But the most people--the majority--are supportive. There’s a lot of comments about how cute they are together, and more that wish Bucky happiness no matter what. And of course, the usual cry for new music. 

On the whole though, it’s good. 

He hears the shower shut off and is getting ready to find his clothes so he can clean up when he gets a text from Maria:

**MzHill:** Everybody loved it!

**Barnes:** Not everyone

**MzHill:** Everyone who counts. Mexico or Hawaii?

**Barnes:** ???

**MzHill:** Needs some vacation pix. Mexico or Hawaii. 3 days.

**Barnes:** IDK if he has a passport.

**MzHill:** Hawaii then. Booking now for Th-Sun. Suite w piano if poss.

Bucky thinks back to one of his last family vacations with Nat and Sofie. They’d gone to the Big Island because Sofie was fascinated by volcanoes. He’d never felt so lonely in his life. When they were in public, everything was fine, but once they got back to the room, Nat buried herself in her phone or busied herself with Sofie. Bucky felt like she was on another planet. They made the split official just a couple of months later. 

**Barnes:** Book one of the smaller islands please. I know we need paps, but not up for volcanoes.

**MzHill:** Kaui?

**Barnes:** Perfect. Thx. 

When Steve gets out of the shower, Bucky’s got a big smile for him. “Ever been to Hawaii?” he asks. 

Steve pauses toweling off his hair. “Buddy I haven’t been outside of the Eastern seaboard.”

“Well pack your bags. We’re going to Hawaii.”

“Seriously?” Steve’s whole face lights up as he waits for Bucky’s reply. 

“It’s only for a couple of days,” Bucky says. “Just to let the paps get some shots of us having fun.”

“We’re going to Hawaii, though? Like, really going?”

Bucky smiles. Steve is so damn easy to please. “It was that or Mexico, and I wasn’t sure if you have a passport, so yeah, Hawaii.”

Steve grins. “This is so cool.”

Standing, Bucky starts gathering his things for a shower. They have a car coming in an hour to get them to the airport, and Bucky was really hoping to get some food in him before the flight. 

“Glad you’re excited,” Bucky says. “Want anything from room service? We’re leaving in an hour for the airport.”

“Sure,” Steve says. “Want me to order while you shower?”

“Perfect,” Bucky replies. “Anything protein based, not too heavy.”

“You got it. Man. Hawaii.”

Bucky smiles as he turns on the water. Steve’s easy enthusiasm is infectious, and Bucky starts the day with a big smile, thinking about how fun it’s going to be showing off his world to someone. 

With Nat, she’d been around the block some, so even when she was excited about something, she maintained that aloof air of hers. Lauren was a lot of fun, getting excited, but for some reason, it always felt like nothing was ever enough for her. With Joey...Bucky was too afraid of getting caught to relax enough to have fun. 

With Steve...he’ll admit it: he’s enjoying spoiling Steve. He finds himself looking forward to all the things to come, all the things he’ll get to show Steve. He has a moment of guilt about stealing all of these firsts from Steve and his future romantic partners. He should get to do these things with someone he loves. With a sigh, Bucky pushes that thought away. Maybe he should get to do these things with someone he loves, but at least this way, he gets to do them at all. 

By the time Bucky’s out of the bathroom, the room service waiter is setting up a tray at the dining room table. 

Steve has waffles with strawberries and whipped cream, while Bucky downs a couple of eggs, some cheese, and some fresh fruit. It’s exactly what he was hoping for, and he thanks Steve once again for taking care of him.

“No problem,” Steve says with a smile around a mouth full of whipped cream and waffles. “Least I could do.”

.

By the time they get home, Bucky’s beat. Maria emailed him with the details of their Hawaii trip, and when they’re looking over take out menus for dinner, Bucky has a thought. 

“Hey, what do you say we go shopping tomorrow?”

“For what?” Steve honestly looks baffled.

“Hawaii. I bet you could use some new clothes, am I right?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Steve’s cheeks pink and Bucky grins. “I got a bunch of new stuff when Maria sent me out? She, uh, hired someone to pick things for me?”

“Yeah, but I bet she didn’t get you anything for the beach. And it’s part of the package,” he says. “Besides, I’m willing to bet we’ll get at least some press out of it.”

“I saw some of the reactions online,” Steve says. “It seemed like most of it was positive.”

“Maria was happy,” Bucky says. “So, yeah.”

“That’s--I’m glad.” Steve looks relieved.

“Hey, you know that this isn’t about you, right? If things don’t go well, it’s nothing to do with you.”

“But you’re paying me to help make a good impression, Buck.”

“Pal, if all it took was money, my rep would already be solid gold. What you’re doing helps, but you’re not responsible for the outcome.”

“Okay, but I don’t want to blow things for you.”

Bucky smiles. “You’re helping a lot already. The press seem to like you. Things are going good.”

Steve gives him a small smile. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Bucky says. 

.

They spend the next day in Manhattan, shopping for anything Steve might need for the trip. Bucky picks up a dress for Sofie, something sweet that she’ll probably never wear, but that he knows will look fantastic on her, as well as a pair of sunglasses she’s been asking him for for a month.

He knows he spoils her, but hell, why not? He can’t take it with him, and she seems to have a good head on her shoulders regardless of a little indulgence here and there. He’s never seen anything from her that indicates her values are askew, so he feels okay giving her what she wants now and then.

Speaking of…

Bucky looks up from his phone and his brain shorts out for a moment. 

“You should get it,” Bucky says. Steve is wearing a tan linen suit and he looks like he belongs on the bow of a yacht. He looks like money and decadence and a life well lived. He looks young and fit and Bucky’s mouth is dry.

Shaking his head, Steve turns away from the mirror. “I can’t, the salesman brought it, but it’s too much.”

“Get it,” Bucky says. “You look--it’s--It’s a good fit. Won’t need tailoring. And you’ll need a suit for dinner one night.” Because apparently they’re going out to a nice dinner now, who knew?

“Yeah?” Steve asks, and the smile on his face, all lit up like sunshine. 

“Yeah,” Bucky replies, and texts Maria to get them reservations someplace nice in Hawaii.

When they get back to Bucky’s place, Steve’s carrying a half dozen bags on each arm. They’d stopped at a bistro for lunch, and even though Bucky’d noticed a few paps, he didn’t let them distract him from listening to Steve’s stories and sharing a few of his own. 

“Well,” Steve says, as Bucky hands him the last bag. “I definitely feel like the prettiest woman.”

Laughing, Bucky grabs his own bags and closes the trunk. “Too bad I’m no Richard Gere,” Bucky says. 

Steve cocks his head and gives Bucky a warm look. “You don’t--” he starts, then shakes his head. “Not a trade I’d make.” Then he turns and takes himself and his bags into the house, leaving Bucky to wonder what exactly he meant by that. 

That evening after dinner, Bucky sits at the piano, playing whatever comes to mind. He finally picks out a few notes of “You are my Sunshine,” but slow, and a little bit sad. Taking Steve out, having him here, in Bucky’s home? It drives home to him just how lonely he’s been. Faking it with Steve only illustrated for him that he’s nobody’s sunshine, and god, he wants that, so bad. He wants to be the reason someone lights up. He wants to inspire one of those Steve smiles for real. 

It’s a dangerous path for his mind to wander. He knows he should try to find someone, and now that his options aren’t limited, maybe he will, but hell if he has any idea about how to do that. 

He knows he’s a hard man to love. He knows he’s hard to get close to, that he has trouble letting people in. His lifestyle, it’s only pretty on the outside. And he knows that whoever he chooses will likely have a problem with how close he is with Nat, but it’s non-negotiable. She’s the mother of his child, and...and his closest friend. He’s grateful for that. He’d never give it up. 

He’d met Lauren when she was a PA for one of his opening acts. And Janie’d picked him up at the airport bar. He saw right through her act when she pretended not to know him, but he was flattered nonetheless. He knew, deep down inside, that neither relationship was going to work, but he’d hoped for the best anyway. All he really wants is a home, a family. 

Well, maybe someday. 

He’s pulled from his musing by a soft voice singing. 

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine...geez you know how to make a happy song sad.”

Bucky laughs. “Yeah, just playing around,” he says. “What’re you up to?”

“Nothing. Do you have a few minutes?”

“Sure,” Bucky says, grateful for the reprieve. He knows the music is still inside of him, but right now, it’s just out of reach, no matter how hard he tries. “What’s up?”

Steve walks to the sofa and has a seat. “I just wanted to talk about the trip, and your expectations. Some pictures from the afternoon hit TMZ already, and I realized that I really wasn’t thinking about my duties while we were out today. I don’t want to mess up like that again.”

“Hey,” Bucky says, coming to sit beside Steve. “I’m glad you were able to relax and not think about it. I’m sure it helps that we looked natural.”

At that, Steve smiles. “Still,” he says. 

“Alright. So, mostly what Maria’s looking for is some fun in the sun shots. Just the two of us hanging out and having fun. That’s all.”

“Okay,” Steve says, thinking it over. “What kind of PDA?” 

“Nothing outrageous,” Bucky says. “Hand-holding, some hugs, chaste kisses. We need to keep everything pretty tame, otherwise they’ll accuse us of flaunting our sexuality.”

“That’s a bullshit double standard.”

“Is what it is,” Bucky shrugs. “Anything else?” 

“You mind if I hit the gym in the mornings? Will that be a problem?”

“Not by me. I might even join you.”

“Oh yeah?” 

“Eh, I usually don’t on the road, but it probably wouldn’t hurt to burn off some of those MaiTai’s we’ll be drinking.”

Steve smiles. “I’m really looking forward to this. Thank you. And thank you for today. It was really fun.”

“It was my pleasure,” Bucky says, an automatic response that he realizes he actually means. “And you know, you don’t have to thank me for every little thing.”

Steve grimaces. “It’s kind of how I was raised, and--and I’m grateful, Buck. I know this is a job, and, and I’m thankful. But you’re also being really nice about it all. I didn’t expect that.”

Bucky feels himself go sheepish. “Geez,” he says, and gets back up to sit at the piano. “I’m a diva, not an asshole.”

“You’re not much of either from where I’m standing.”

“Yeah, well, stick around awhile,” Bucky says.

Steve gives him a soft smile. “I’m planning on it. And that said... I’ll get out of your hair now.”

From his piano, Bucky watches Steve leave the room. “Hate to see you leave,” he sings softly, under his breath as he picks out a few notes on the piano. “But love to watch you go.” He picks out a few more notes, and is surprised to find a song starting to take shape. It’s been so long since he’s written anything he didn’t hate. So long, and also...if he’s being honest, he hasn’t wanted to put out another album. Not since that shit deal with PIerce went down.

Oh, well, nothing he can do about it now. 

Besides, he doesn’t think he ever wants to go back to doing big arena tours, fifty-seven countries in 63 days kind of thing, but he does admit that he sometimes misses the road. There’s a kind of camaraderie being on the tour bus, making do with what they have, seeing a different city every day. It always took them forever to wind down from a show, so some nights they’d finish the show, get back on the bus, and end up at a Denny’s in the middle of nowhere at four in the morning, taking down mountains of pancakes and washing it down with forbidden bottles as the waitresses turned a blind eye. Falling asleep to the lull of the wheels on the road, or the sound of Falsworth and Morita working out a new rhythm for a riff Bucky threw at them earlier. 

There’s a romance to it, the road. 

Then, of course, he remembers that last, long tour. It was two years with pockets off here and there, and was the most successful tour the world had ever seen. Sold-out stadiums one on top of the other, with merchandise sales and tickets sales going through the roof. The album stayed on the charts for 143 weeks, his love letter to Natasha and the family they’d built. By the time he came off the road, Sofie was two and Bucky’d missed all of it.

He still hasn’t forgiven himself. 

Bucky pauses and writes a few notes down on the blank page before him, before winding up for the night. His fingers worked as he’d strolled down memory lane, and he thinks he’s halfway to a semi-decent song.

Maybe. 

.

When he heads up to bed, he finds Steve in his room with the door open, so he pops his head in to say goodnight. Bucky looks into the room, and sees that Steve is watching old interviews of him. He stands by and watches for a moment. This one in particular is during his marriage to Nat. The plain gold ring on his finger gleams, and he can see her fingerprints in everything that he’s wearing. God, she had good taste. 

Steve notices him at some point, because he puts the TV on pause, then rolls over to look at Bucky.

“Well?” Bucky asks. “What’d’ya learn?”

Steve blinks, looks at him for a long, quiet moment before answering. 

“You learned how to talk uptown, got the Brooklyn out of your voice. At some point, you had your teeth fixed. I think right before you met Natasha, maybe right after, I can’t tell. You like being married. You love your kid. A lot. And sometime between Nat and Lauren, you--”

“I what?” Bucky asks. 

“Nothing,” Steve says, and rolls back over, facing the TV again.

“No, you--you weren’t half off. I wanna hear.”

Steve breathes deep a moment, then turns toward Bucky again. “It’s just...you know, you started wearing a lot of black, and….” He trails off and shrugs. 

“And what?” Bucky asks again. Something about the way Steve’s holding back makes Bucky think he’s not gonna like what Steve has to say. 

Steve shrugs, then looks Bucky in the eye. “Just...seems like you lost faith. In yourself.” He holds Bucky’s eyes for a beat, then rolls back over.

Bucky doesn’t sigh out loud, and for that he’s grateful. “Well,” he finally says. “Don’t forget the Oprah interview. Everyone says it’s a classic.” He doesn’t wait to hear what Steve will say, just turns tail and all but runs to his bedroom. 

So what if the kid’s observant? Doesn’t mean he actually knows anything. He’s only guessing based on carefully edited interviews. 

It’s not like he actually knows Bucky. Aside from Natasha, he thinks, no one’s known him in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some charities to consider donating to include:   
> The Okra Project  
> Emergency Release Fund (dotcom)  
> Black Trans Travel Fund


	7. Fun Fun Fun in the Sun!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deisderium once again provided the beta love. I'm so terribly thankful she's adopted this little fic. <3 <3 <3

**_7._ **

**_Fun Fun Fun in the Sun!_ **

_ Everyone’s favorite piano man was recently seen taking in the sun and surf with his new paramour in romantic Kauai! The two were spotted frolicking in the surf, lazing in the sun, and having what looks like a grand time. Rumor has it Barnes is hard at work on a new album of entirely new music. Will this little get away get the creative juices flowing again? Time will tell!  _

When they land in Hawaii, Steve is so giddy it’s almost contagious. He looks at everything with such wide-eyed wonder, and it thrills Bucky a little to be able to give Steve this experience. 

They’re greeted at the hotel lobby with room keys and a bellhop to take their bags up for them. When they get to the suite, it’s gorgeous. There’s a huge private lanai, a full kitchen, and--

“Bucky! You gotta come see this tub!”

Grinning, Bucky follows the sound of Steve’s voice to the bathroom, where there’s a huge French tub, as well as five adjustable shower heads at the showering platform. It’s beautiful and Bucky’s already planning on the world’s longest, hottest shower. 

“Hope you remembered bubble bath,” Bucky says, tone teasing.

“You think they have some in the gift shop?” Steve asks, and Bucky chuckles.

“Just call the front desk; they’ll send some up.”

“What, really?” Steve asks. 

“Welcome to the suite life,” Bucky says, and Steve gapes.

When the bellhop arrives, Bucky tips him and suggests that they change and hit the beach. He figures they’ll have a few drinks, maybe order up room service later. He knows the jet lag is going to catch up with Steve sooner than later. 

“Hey,” Steve says. “The couch is really huge. I don’t mind.”

“What?” Bucky asks, mind already thinking about what they’ll do tomorrow. 

“I don’t want to assume,” Steve says. 

“Up to you,” Bucky says. “I’m not gonna force you, but I don’t mind.”

“If you’re sure?” he says, and Bucky nods. Steve sets his bag down on the bed and starts rifling through it, finally pulling out a pair of swim trunks. 

Bucky grabs a couple of beers to take down to the pool area. If he recalls correctly, they’re not allowed booze out on the sand, but the pool area is fine, and after the flight he just had, he wants nothing more than to close his eyes and soak up some sun. 

They’re sunning themselves for about an hour when Bucky decides to wade out into the water, letting the gentle waves lap at his thighs. The day is bright, and he’s glad for his wayfarers, helping to cut out the glare. Maybe he’d had one too many last night, but God, his schedule for the last month has been exhausting. He hadn’t realized how much he needed this break. 

In the distance, he can hear the business of the shore: children squealing, a dog barking, but it’s easy to tune that out and listen to the music of the ocean instead. He’s just starting to lose himself in it when someone wraps their arms around him, startling him out of the composition he’s been running in his head. 

“Shh, it’s me,” Steve says, and Bucky relaxes. “Bunch of people on shore with their phones out, figured it would be a good idea to earn my paycheck.”

Turning in Steve’s arms, Bucky brings his arms around Steve’s waist. “Thanks. Uh, good thinking.”

“No problem,” Steve says, then leans in to brush a soft kiss against Bucky’s lips. “Sorry for startling you,” he says, and his voice is low and a little bit gruff. It reminds Bucky of the first night they met.

Up until now, it’s been easy to keep up the charade. After all, no one expects them to be handsy with each other while they’re doing a talk show, or out to lunch. 

But here? They’re supposed to be relaxed, having fun on vacation. Bucky realizes just how right Steve was to do this, get close like this, even if it is doing something to him to be caught up in Steve’s embrace.

“No,” Bucky says. “Thank you. This was a good idea.”

Steve grins and Bucky can’t tell if it’s genuine or if it’s for show, but it pulls a grin out of him anyway. 

“Glad you think so,” Steve says. He runs his hand up Bucky’s arm., then runs his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “Hope you don’t mind getting all this pretty wet.”

Before Bucky can make sense of the words, Steve dips down, picks him up by the backs of his thighs, then unceremoniously drops him into the water, dunking Bucky once he bobs up for air again.

“Oh, it is  _ on _ ,” Bucky yells, then gives chase. They spend the next twenty minutes chasing each other around in the water, splashing and making fools of themselves. Bucky finally gets a solid dunk on Steve, who comes up spluttering water with his hair plastered against his face. Bucky catches himself staring, just for a moment, as the water sheets down Steve’s chest, but then Steve blinks and gives a playful growl, and Bucky’s off again, running from his “boyfriend.”

Later, they dry off under the sun and Bucky lets out a long sigh as Steve rubs sunscreen over Bucky’s back and shoulders. He feels good, like he hasn’t in a long time. He’s about to drift off to sleep when Steve reaches out and tangles their fingers together. 

To anyone watching, they’re the perfect pair: rich, happy, and in love. 

Bucky spends the rest of the afternoon wondering what it would be like if it were real. 

.

“I can’t get over how beautiful this place is,” Steve says once they get back to the room, eyes skimming over everything. “I thought water that blue was only in magazines. Thank you for bringing me here.” He smiles at Bucky, looking soft and sincere, and it pings that thing in Bucky, that thing that likes to take care of people. 

The afternoon at the beach left Bucky feeling out of sorts. It’s almost too much, trying to remember that none of this is real. He knows he gives his heart away too easily, and he knows he falls hard when he does. So he blames what happens next on that, on trying to keep the lines between reality and make believe straight.

“Yeah, well, you seem to have this faking it thing down to a T. You’re gunning for employee of the month, here,” Bucky says, and flashes his too bright, camera smile.

Steve looks at him a moment before his face falls. “Don’t do that,” he says, his voice and his face serious for once. His eyes squint up for a moment, looking around the room, before they land on Bucky again. “Don’t put me in my place--I don’t deserve that from you. You hired me to do a job; you don’t get to belittle me for doing it. I know exactly why I’m here, and it’s because you asked me to be. So don’t be mad that I’m good at my job.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says, eyes down, because Steve’s right. It was a cheap shot, and Steve’s been great about everything. “I’m just...trying to keep some distance, you know? I don’t want to forget myself and...push it.”

Steve’s face softens and he reaches for Bucky’s hand across the table. “I understand. How about when we’re in public, you trust me? I know the rules and I’m not going to do anything that we haven’t already agreed on. So maybe just relax, and, you know, let me do my job?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Steve smiles, easy again, and sits back in his chair. “Listen, I heard about an ice cream place a few blocks from here. They’ve got some coffee praline chocolate thing, sounds right up your alley.”

Bucky smiles, because, Jesus, it’s only been a few weeks and already Steve knows him so well, and when he looks, all he sees is Steve’s genuine smile in response. 

“You wanna get out of here?” Steve asks.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “You’re on.”

.

The next morning Bucky wakes up feeling well rested once again. And once again, there’s a cup of coffee on his nightstand, and he can hear the shower going. Checking the time, he notices it’s already eight am. Guess he’s not going to join Steve for a work out, then. 

Smiling, he sits up in bed and takes a sip of coffee. It’s good, rich and dark like he likes it. He thumbs through his phone and sees that the gossip sites already have pictures from yesterday up. There’s a couple of the two of them in water, laughing and playing, There’s one, though, of the two of them side by side, laying in the warm sun, their fingers tangled together between them. Bucky stares at it for a long while. How long has it been since he’s looked that content? For that matter, how long since he’s been content? 

“Hey,” Steve says, stepping out of the bathroom with a towel to his head. He’s wearing shorts and nothing else, and Bucky’s again treated to the expanse of Steve’s chest. Jesus, he’s built. 

“Good work out?” Bucky asks, trying to get his head back where it needs to be.

“Great,” Steve answers. “Did you have anything in mind for the day?”

Bucky shrugs. “Take a drive to the other side of the island? 

“Yeah?” Steve asks, instantly brightening. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to want to stay on the property all day.”

“Hell no,” Bucky says, answering Steve’s grin. “Let’s get out of here!”

.

After Bucky showers, they grab a rental from the concierge and head out with Bucky behind the wheel. Steve looks things up on his phone and watches everything as it goes by. When he spots a little restaurant by the side of the road, they pull over and get some breakfast. The papaya with lime is Steve’s favorite part, but Bucky’s partial to the coconut pancakes. 

Bucky notices when the waitress recognizes him, and gives her a nod and a smile. He waits for her to ask for his autograph, but she doesn’t, and he feels relieved, but also...he feels a little out of sorts. Maybe he’s not that popular anymore. 

They get back on the road, stopping at this beach and that, before Steve spots some kind of community fair and looks at Bucky with pleading eyes that Bucky can’t deny. 

When they pull off, it turns out to be a fundraiser for the local school district. There are booths where people can buy food and crafts, and Steve walks away with a Kauai Fire Department t-shirt, two slices of coconut cake, and a plate of spam tacos. There’s a moment when the woman running the cake booth recognizes Bucky and asks for his autograph. He agrees, and it takes a few minutes for the gathered crowd to die down. Steve waits patiently, a small smile on his face as he watches Bucky be the center of attention. 

“Is it true? Are you making a new album?” The woman asking is a little bit older than he is, with beautiful, long black hair and a pink Kapa’a Elementary School t-shirt on. 

“We’ll see,” he says. “I’m working on it.”

“I’m glad,” she says, and then looks over at Steve. “Don’t work too hard,” she says with a devious smile, and Bucky finds himself smiling back. Even if this thing with Steve isn’t real, a fan’s acceptance is still nice. He stands and takes a few pictures with people, always asking if it’s okay to touch them first, and then smiling for the camera. Before long, one of the guys from the Fire Department booth comes over and berates the women for taking up Bucky’s time. He smiles and says it’s no problem, then poses for a picture with him, before he and Steve are finally free to go. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. “I didn’t think you’d get caught up like that.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Bucky replies, pulling back out onto the highway. “I can either stay in the house forever, or go out and run the risk of running into fans. Truth is I’m lucky to have fans,” he says, which is what he always says, whether he’s having a good day when he is, in fact, grateful, or a bad day when he wants to snarl at them all and just go home.

“Still,” Steve says. “I’ll try to be better.”

“Hey,” Bucky says, and just stays himself from reaching over to take Steve’s hand. “I mean it, don’t give it another thought. I get paid a lot of money by these folks. I don’t mind taking a few pictures now and then.”

“Okay,” Steve says, and Bucky thinks he actually means it.

They round out the day touring a coffee plantation and picking up a couple of sandwiches from a little cafe, before stopping for a pair of coconuts by the side of the road.

“Want to check out the beach?” Steve asks, watching the young woman drill holes into the coconut and put in bendy straws.

“Sure,” Bucky says, smiling at how easy everything seems to be. With Janie, she didn’t want to do anything unless the press was tagging along. Laren was a little better; she was more interested in spending money than being photographed. With Joey...well, there were only so many places you could hang out with your personal assistant before people got suspicious. 

Steve...he doesn’t seem to have an agenda. He’s not catering to Bucky’s every whim, but he’s also not aggressively pushing for what he wants either. Come to think of it, Bucky’s not entirely sure what Steve wants. Huh. 

“Hey,” Steve says, handing him a coconut. “Where’d you go?”

“Oh, uh, thinking about the new album,” Bucky lies.

“Cool. There’s a place to rent snorkels across the road. Want to give it a go?”

Laughing, Bucky says, “Sure, why not?”

So they rent snorkel masks and fins. Steve drives them down a secluded road to a secluded beach, and Bucky’s relieved to note that there are only a couple other people on the beach, which makes it perfect. They change into trunks behind towels by the side of the road, and they wade out into the water. 

They float on the water, watching the marine life, pointing things out to one another, and it’s the nicest afternoon Bucky’s spent in a while. Steve drags him out time and again to reapply sunscreen, and if maybe he lets his mind wander as he smoothes the cream into Steve’s shoulders, well no one needs to know that. 

After a while they lay on towels in the warm sun, and Bucky’s surprised to find himself feeling truly relaxed. 

“We have dinner reservations tonight,” Bucky murmurs. “Gotta keep track of the time.”

“It’s only three,” Steve answers, his voice low, like it’s a secret between them. “Have a nap if you want.”

“In this sun?” Bucky asks. “I’ll be a tomato.”

Steve laughs. “I think that goes for both of us. One more dip?”

“Go for it,” Bucky says. “I’m good.”

“Alright,” Steve replies, and takes off for the water. He plays in the waves, diving under some, swimming out a bit, then turning to wave at Bucky on the shore. Grinning, Bucky waves back. When he looks around the beach, there’s no one with a phone out taking pictures, and he feels himself relax a little further. 

After a bit, Steve turns back to the shore and starts making his way out of the water When he gets to shallow water, he starts a jog back to Bucky and he can’t help but stare: all six foot something of Steve, water flying off of him, chest bouncing, and Bucky can just imagine the thighs flexing. It’s enough that he has to blink and look away, taking a deep breath and swallowing. 

“Hey,” Steve says. “This water’s amazing.”

“Uh, yeah,” Bucky says, trying to shake it off.

“What’s up?” Steve asks, noticing Bucky’s daze. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Bucky answers, going for truth. “You jogged up here and I swear it was like a slo-mo track from Baywatch.”

“What?” Steve laughs.

“You,” Bucky says, gesturing to Steve, but he’s laughing too. “I don’t think I’ve ever known someone so at ease in their own body.”

Steve shrugs, then his face grows serious. “I wasn’t always. I was pretty sickly as a baby, a kid. I got pneumonia as an infant, and every winter after, I ended up with bronchitis, or pneumonia, or sometimes bronchitis that turned into pneumonia. Plus asthma. And, a, uh, heart murmur. You wouldn’t even recognize me, I was so small.”

“Geez,” Bucky says. “I didn’t know. What happened?”

Looking down, Steve says, “My mom was a nurse. One of the doctors at her hospital got me into a trial. It was human growth hormone, plus some other stuff. It was meant to help redevelop damaged tissue.” He shrugs and looks away. “I was the only one out of eight hundred that it worked on.” 

“That’s...incredible Steve. What a gift.”

“Yeah,” he says, and then smiles. “Ma used to call me her little miracle. Then when I started growing, she called me her big miracle. Made it harder when she got sick though. We kept hoping that miracles ran in the family.” Steve shrugs again.

“I’m so sorry. What happened to her?”

“It’s gonna sound crazy, but she got the flu. She caught the flu, wouldn’t stay down, then it got into her lungs, then pneumonia, and she just couldn’t fight it. I don’t know, she’s with my grandparents now. She wanted that.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says. “And your dad?”

“Drinker,” is all Steve replies with.

Bucky reaches out and takes Steve’s hand. “Mine, too.” 

They look at each other for a moment, and with the sun shining down, and the sound of the water in the background, Bucky feels something inside of him open up, a little tendril poking up through the permafrost. It’s uncomfortable and he shies away from it, but he doesn’t want to let it go. 

Squeezing his hand, Steve gives him a soft smile. “Let’s get out of here,” he says. “I need a shower before dinner. And maybe a nap.”

Bucky squeezes back. “Yeah. Sounds great.”

.

Despite having a preview, Bucky is unprepared for how good Steve looks in his suit. Maybe it’s because he spent the day with Steve half-naked in the water, but he has trouble getting his mind out of the gutter as they take the elevator down to the lobby.

Once there, Bucky takes the lead, taking Steve’s hand and pulling him out past the lobby and restaurants, past the pool area, and down a candle-lit path to a private little bungalow set up on the beach. 

“What’s this?” Steve asks, looking around. The bungalow is open to the water, but closed on two sides, giving them privacy. There’s a soundbar with music playing low, candles on the table, and champagne in an ice bucket. 

Shrugging, Bucky smiles. “It’s a package they offer,” Bucky says. “Thought it would be nice. Make it look romantic.”

“Uh, romantic’s an understatement. Geez.” 

“Shall we?” Bucky asks, pulling Steve’s chair out. 

Steve takes it with a smile and Bucky feels something inside of him settle. He likes this, wooing someone. He’s good at it.

Then his smile falters as he remembers he’s not here to woo Steve at all. Before he can dwell though, the waiter comes out with menus and pours the champagne. 

“Cheers,” Bucky says, lifting his glass.

“To you,” Steve says, and Bucky starts to demur, but Steve speaks over him. “I promise this will be the last time while we’re here, but really, Buck. Thank you.”

“Hey,” Bucky answers. “Not like I’m not getting something here too, pal. It’s mutually beneficial.”

“If you say so,” Steve says. 

The pair watch the water as they make small talk, and Bucky tries not to dwell on the way Steve called him Buck, like they’re actually friends, or more. By the time the dessert course comes, they’re both feeling the weight of the servings, delicious as they were. 

“Hey,” Steve says, as the waiter takes away their plates. “C’mere.”

He stands and holds his hand out to Bucky who looks at him questioningly, before taking it. 

Steve pulls him into his embrace, swaying with the music playing, and Bucky laughs. “We really are making a night of it,” Bucky says. 

Smiling, Steve puts his hand at the small of Bucky’s back. “Might make for good optics,” he says. “Plus--”

A sharp giggle interrupts him, and Bucky looks up to see a middle-aged woman taking a picture of the two of them. 

“Gay pride!” She yells. “Love is love is love!” and then walks off, staring down into her phone. 

“Bi pride,” Steve yells after her, and then looks down at Bucky. “Least she can do is get it right,” he says, but he’s smiling, and somehow that takes the sting out of the situation. 

“Anyway,” Bucky says. “You were saying?”

Steve looks confused for a moment, then he ducks his head a little, looking away. “It was nothing,” he says with a shrug. “You want to get out of here?”

Whatever soft thing that Bucky thought might be blooming between them was stunted by the interruption, and now lost. 

Still, as Bucky lies in bed that night, he wonders again what it was that Steve was about to say, and wonders even more why it matters. Steve is breathing soft and steady beside him, and if he looks, he can just make out the blonde tips of Steve’s lashes in the pale light of the moon. If this was any other situation, Bucky would have his hands full of that body before he took his next breath, and maybe that’s part of what’s going on for him, but he can’t help but wonder how much of what he’s getting from Steve is real, versus how much is him playing the part. 

He guesses it’s alway the same question though. He’s wondered the same thing about everyone he’s had a serious relationship with. At least with Steve, he knows that they’re both acting. 

Aren’t they?

.

The next day they take a short hike after breakfast, then return to the hotel, where Steve spends the afternoon sketching and Bucky trades off lazing by the pool for bodysurfing, before going back to lazing by the pool. It’s nice and he almost wishes that they had a few more days in paradise, but that secret part of his brain that’s always composing is longing for a piano and a quiet room, so when the alarm goes off the next morning, he packs with no complaints. 

It will be good to get back to work, he thinks. Get his mind off of things. It will be good to get back to normal. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sci Fi and Fantasy are two of my favorite genres. Here are a couple of books by Black women in that genre:
> 
> Riot Baby  
> A Blade So Black   
> The Good Luck Girls  
> A Phoenix First Mist Burn   
> The City We Became


	8. Family Affair?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very much love for Deisderium, who has been a really wonderful cheerleader, and absolutely helped this fic see the light of day. <3

**_Family Affair?_ **

_ Things must be really heating up with Barnes and his new boytoy, Steve Rogers. Although our eagle-eyed reporter wasn’t able to get a photo, Sofie Barnes was seen visiting daddy dearest - and his live-in lover - just this Sunday. We understand that Barnes has visitation most Sundays, but this is the first time that we know of that he’s introducing his daughter to the new man in his life. Can wedding number five be far off? _

When they return from their trip, things settle into something of a routine. Bucky spends a lot of the day either at the piano, or on the deck writing in a notebook. Steve comes and goes and splits his time between working out in the home gym, going for jogs down by the water, or in his room, or sometimes settling in with his sketchbook in the sitting room. They come together for lunch sometimes, and dinner usually. It’s...it’s nice, having someone to digest the day with, maybe share some wine. There’s an easy companionship between them. Bucky wasn’t expecting that. 

He looks across the table at Steve, who is eating a gross number of calories via Mama Leone’s fettuccine alfredo. When he catches Bucky’s eyes and pinks up, then grins, it helps Bucky make the decision he’s been struggling with for a week now. 

“Hey, so Sofie usually comes for dinner on Sundays, and Sunday’s tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Steve says, a question on his face. “Do you need me to get out of here? I can go visit some friends.”

“No,” Bucky says, trying to feel his way forward. “I was thinking you might want to stay? Meet Sof?”

“I...sure?”

“You sound hesitant,” Bucky says, quirking a brow.

“I guess i’m surprised. I didn’t think you’d want me to spend time with her.”

Bucky shrugs. “I went back and forth, but...I promised when she was born that I’d never lie to her, and I haven’t, even when I probably should have. She knows who you are and what you’re doing here. Seems kind of silly to make you hide out once a week, you know? I trust you.”

“I--” Steve opens his mouth, then closes it. “Thank you,” he says, smiling. “I’d love to meet Sofia.”

“She’s great,” Bucky says, and smiles back. “I may be biased, but I think you’re gonna love her.”

“I don’t have any doubt.”

.

By the time Sunday afternoon arrives, Bucky’s been in the kitchen half the day, making brownies and cooking down short ribs in a red wine sauce, loading it up with mushrooms and bacon. The whole house smells amazing and he looks at the way the glaze for the brownies is thickening and smiles. He likes cooking, always has, but cooking for Sof has pushed him to new levels. Nat was easy: give her a cheeseburger and she’s happy. 

Sofie though was more adventurous: as a kid, she’d try anything Bucky was eating, and as she grew, she’d expanded that, often sending him recipes that she wanted to try when they were together. It became a fun pastime for the two of them, and eventually, it turned into these Sunday night dinners. 

Bucky’s pulling together ingredients for a salad when Sofie walks in. She’s wearing a pink dress that calls to mind a ballerina, and the color sets off her long red hair. From where Bucky’s standing, she looks like a princess.

“There’s the prettiest girl in the world,” Bucky says, coming around to give her a hug. “You look like a little princess,” he says, then takes in the cherry red docs. “A punk-rock princess,” he amends, as Sofie smiles and gives him a hug. 

“Hi Daddy,” she says, then comes around to sit at one of the barstools at the island. “What’s for dinner?”

“Braised short-ribs in a cabernet sauce with glazed carrots, mashed potatoes, and,” he says, pushing the cutting board her way, “a salad.”

She smiles and sets to work dicing vegetables for the salad. 

He looks over at her with a gut-deep aching. She’s growing up so fast. She’s at the point now where she’s starting to try on “Dad” instead of “Daddy,” and it tears his heart up every time she does it. One day she’ll call him “Daddy” for the last time. He isn’t ready.

“How was Hawaii? The pictures looked nice.”

“It was good,” Bucky says. “Speaking of, I invited Steve to join us.”

“I get to meet him?” She asks, face lighting up. “I didn’t think you wanted us to hang out.”

“I went back and forth, but...he’s a good kid. I think you’ll like him,” Bucky says. 

“Cool.”

The pair cook in silence for a bit, until Bucky starts prodding Sofie about her week. “It’s dumb,” she replies. “They keep telling us they want us to develop our creativity, but every time we try, they tell us to stick to the assignment.”

Bucky shrugs. “I mean, you get what they’re teaching you there, right?”

“I know,” she says, with a deep sigh and a droning voice. “They want us to learn how to follow the rules. But the whole point of creating something new is to break the rules! Like why are we at a school for the arts if we’re not getting to create new art?”

“Is that what Miles thinks?” Bucky asks, bringing up Sofie’s best friend. 

“It’s different. He gets to draw new stuff because he’s in visual arts. But if you’re in music, you just have to regurgitate the masters. Blah, blah, blah.”

“I know you’re not putting blasphemy on Beethoven’s name,” Bucky says, but there’s a smile in his voice. 

“Please don’t try to be cool, Daddy.”

“Joke’s on you, Sof. I was born cool.”

Sophie gives him a massive eye roll. “All I’m just saying is I want to write my own stuff.”

“So what’s stopping you?”

“I already asked! They won’t give me credit for writing something new, just for learning something old.”

“Ohhhh,” Bucky says, his tone playful. “It’s only worth doing if you get credit for it. Gotcha.”

“No!” Sofie says. “Wait, what?”

“What’s stopping you from writing your own piece on your own time?”

“Well, I am.”

“Okay, so what’s the problem. School work is always going to be work, sweetheart. There’s a reason it’s called work and not play.”

“It just isn’t fair,” she says.

“Sure,” Bucky says, pulling the short ribs from the oven. “Until next year when they expect you to use what you learned this year to move ahead. That’s how it goes. You’re a smart kid, Sof, you know this.”

“I know,” she says, abashed. “It just sucks.”

“It does suck,” Steve says, coming in from the sitting room. “I was already in college before I really got to do art my way.”

“Oh!” Sofie says. “Hi, I’m Sofie.”

“I’m Steve,” he replies with a warm smile.

“So,” he says. “Music?”

“Yeah,” Sofie answers, and Bucky watches the two of them interact, part of him cautious and protective, but part of him proud as Sofie launches into conversation with Steve like there’s not a thing in the world strange about him living in Bucky’s house, pretending to be his boyfriend. 

God, what a kid. 

They get through dinner, the three of them talking like old friends, and Bucky’s thankful. Things didn’t have to go so easy with Sofie, not after the divorce, but Nat agreed that Sofie deserved to see Bucky as much as she wanted, and they made it work. At first it was awkward, with the two of them sticking to a strict schedule. But as Sofie grew, they both became more flexible, until now, when the custody arrangement was completely fluid, depending on everyone’s schedules, and what Sofie wanted. 

It works for them. Bucky hopes it always stays this way, his relationship with Sofie coming easy. When Bucky’s dad walked out, Bucky wanted nothing to do with the bastard, and the feeling seemed to be mutual. It wasn’t until Bucky found success as a musician that his father came sniffing around. Before anything could come to a head, though, his father had a massive heart attack and died. 

Bucky paid for the funeral, and swore he’d never be that kind of father. 

And he isn’t. He’s proud of that. 

“...well the MFA course I was looking at is pretty much all centered on your own work, so it’s a way to really learn to express yourself with guidance. You know, find your voice.” 

Bucky tunes in to hear Steve talking excitedly to Sofie, and from the look of things, she’s eating it up. 

“You got an MFA?” Bucky asks, impressed. He’d ditched out of school as soon as he could, and while he’s worked long and hard to hone his talent, he also knows that he really would have benefitted from a formal education. The crowds go wild for his stuff, but he knows how sloppy his technique gets. 

“Nah,” Steve says, looking away. “I looked at the program at Pratt, but...it wasn’t really feasible at the time.”

“Ah,” Bucky says, because he hears exactly what Steve is saying. “How about for fall?”

“I missed the application deadline,” Steve says. “Maybe next year.”

“They gotta have standby or something, right? Late admission?”

“It’s okay,” Steve says, shrugging. “Maybe next year.”

“Tell you what,” Bucky says. “You put together the application. I got a friend on the board. I’ll just call and see if they’ll take a late submission.”

“Buck,” Steve says, voice softening. “I couldn’t. That’s...not fair.”

“You should,” Sofie says, and she’s pushing over a sketchbook. How did Bucky miss that? “You’re really good. And Dad always says it’s better to let someone tell you no than to do it for them.”

“I don’t know,” Steve says, and squirms in his chair.

“Up to you,” Bucky says, shrugging. “I’m not saying I can get you in, I don’t have that kind of pull. But I’d be glad to see if they’ll take a look.”

“I’ll think about it,” Steve says, and Bucky grins. 

“I mean, you should take advantage, I’m just saying.” 

“Yeah, Steve,” Sofie says, “You should take advantage.”

“Alright already,” Steve says, throwing up his hands. “I give! I’ll put together an application this week.”

Bucky grins and Sofie claps her hands. 

“Geez, gang up on a guy why don’t you?” Steve asks, but he’s laughing as he says it, and Bucky smiles. 

They finish up dinner and Steve plates up the brownies with ice cream and hot fudge. Sofie ooohs and ahhhs over it, and between the three of them, they manage to polish off half the pan. 

Then it’s getting late, and Sofie decides to stay at Bucky’s that night. As Steve washes up the dishes, Bucky and Sofie sit out on the deck, huddled close to the chiminea.

“He’s nice,” Sofie says. “I like him.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “It’s not too weird for you?”

Rolling her eyes, Sofie shrugs. “Been a while since you’ve been in the papers a lot, but,” she shrugs, “I know who my real friends are, and Mom’s been awesome at keeping the press away. You know the school won’t let anyone in.” 

Sofie’s not the only child of famous parents at her school, which makes a lot of things easier. 

“Alright,” Bucky says. “You let me know if it gets too much. I’ll see what I can do.”

“You’re really making a new album?” she asks.

“I’m trying.”

“That’s cool. You haven’t made a new record in a long time,” she says, and she has the most beautiful smile on her face. 

“Well, it’s not made yet,” he says. 

“I know,” she answers. “But it will be.”

Jesus, Bucky thinks. What did he ever do to deserve this kid? Her faith in him knocks him sideways.

A few days later, Bucky’s on the deck working out some lyrics when Steve sits down next to him. 

“Is this a good time?” he asks, and sure, why not? Bucky’s been stuck on the bridge for half the morning.

“Sure,” he says, and then watches as Steve passes him a thick envelope.

“My application. For Pratt. There’s a check for the application fee in the envelope, and, uh, some copies of my work. 

“Great,” Bucky says. “I’ll pass it on. Not making any promises, but I’m sure they’ll at least have a look.”

“Thank you, Buck,” Steve says, and his voice, his face, they’re so goddamned sincere. When was the last time Bucky was this grateful for anything? 

“Hey,” Bucky says. “I hope you get in.”

“Thanks,” he says, smiling that beaming smile that makes Bucky’s insides do a funny little clenching thing.

.

Bucky’s at the piano, trying to work through the bridge of a new song. His left hand has been bothering him all morning, probably from all the playing he’s been doing lately. He’s been trying to push through the pain, knowing it’s probably not good for him, but what else is he supposed to do? He can’t stop now, and he knows if he goes to the doctor, it’ll be something he doesn’t want to hear, so why bother? He’s not going to give up playing. He can’t. 

He starts really getting into the tune, playing fast and frenetic, like he did when he was just starting out, when a sharp pain shoots up through his wrist causing him to stop with a hiss.

“Hey, you okay?” Steve steps over to him, taking the offending hand in both of his, running his thumb lightly over the knuckles. “You’re all swollen up here,” he says, looking into Bucky’s eyes. “Did you hit something?”

“No,” Bucky says, pulling his hand away from Steve’s embrace. “Not sure what’s going on, just hurts like a bitch today.”

“Have you seen a doctor? Could be carpal tunnel, or, I don’t know. Did you injure it somehow?”

“It’s fine,” Bucky says, shutting down the conversation. “Did you need something?”

Steve gives him a long, considering look before his face clears as he decides not to pursue the topic any longer. 

“Yeah, I wanted to see if you wanted something for lunch? I was going to make a sandwich, thought you might want one.”

“Yeah, “ Bucky says, checking in with himself and realizing he’s starving. “That sounds good. You wanna go out?”

“Sure,” Steve says. “You have someplace in mind?”

Bucky grins. “I know just the place.”

Thirty-five minutes later, they’re standing in Bucky’s favorite deli, watching Mikey throw together a couple of sandwiches. Bucky adds an antipasto salad, and Steve adds some fruit salad, and then they take their sandwiches and settle in at Prospect Park, the two of them sitting on the grass, enjoying the sunshine and their food. 

“This was a great idea,” Bucky says, stretching out on the grass and folding his hands over his very full belly. 

“Yeah, I love spring days like this. Enough of the mud’s dried up so that you can sit on the grass, but it’s still not too hot.” Steve stretches out on his stomach, soaking in the sun and resting on his elbows. “So,” he says. 

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, closing his eyes and taking in the warmth. He forgets how nice it is, just being outside. How calming. 

Steve sighs. “So when are you going to see a doctor about that hand?”

Ah, shit. So far the only other people who’ve noticed are Morita and Sof. He’d told them both it was under control, but he gets the feeling that Steve isn’t going to be easily swayed. 

“S’not like it bothers me that often.”

“No?” Steve asks. “I’ve noticed you favoring it a couple of times lately. How long has it been like that?”

“Can we talk about something else?” Bucky peeks an eye open and watches as Steve gives him a long look.

“Okay, I’ll let it go for now,” he says, then turns over onto his back. “God, it’s a nice day.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, but closes his eyes again. It’s nice, being out with someone, just taking in the afternoon. As soon as the sun starts to set, it will get cold, but for right now, Bucky’s relishing the feel of sun on his skin. 

“Hey,” Steve says, and Bucky cracks an eye open enough to see he’s turned back over onto his stomach. 

“Yeah?”

“C’mere.” Steve leans up and kisses Bucky just brushing his lips against Bucky’s, but it’s enough to make Bucky want more. 

Taking a breath, Bucky gives Steve a questioning look. “Saw a girl over there with her phone out,” he says. 

When Bucky looks over Steve’s shoulder, he sees a girl about Sofie’s age, posing for selfies with a friend. 

“I don’t think they’re interested in us,” Bucky says. 

“Better safe than sorry,” Steve replies, and leans up to snatch another kiss. 

“You--” Bucky starts, but doesn’t finish. 

“Just doing my job, boss,” Steve says, but he gives Bucky a wink that leaves Bucky thinking for the rest of the day.

.

It’s coming up on midnight a few days later when Bucky decides to give it up for the day and head to bed. He lost track of Steve sometime after dinner. 

He should do something about that, he thinks. Kid’s got to be going crazy, cooped up in the house all day. Not like he can really go out clubbing, but somehow he’s got the sense that Steve’s not much of a clubbing kind of guy. 

Stopping outside of Steve’s door to knock, and gets distracted by the sound of one of his own songs playing. He listens for a minute, feeling caught off guard by it. It’s strange: he felt every note of that song in his heart when he wrote it, but after twenty years of playing it, hearing it on the radio, in elevators and grocery stores, on movie soundtracks...it’s lost all meaning. Now though, hearing it leak through the door, Bucky’s taken aback. It’s so earnest, and his voice is so clear. God, he was young. 

The chorus finishes and Bucky knocks at the door, soft, like he’s interrupting. 

“Open,” Steve yells out. 

“Hey,” Bucky says, pushing the door open. “And here I thought you had taste,” Bucky says, grinning, taking in Steve as he’s at the easel. He looks good: blue jeans and an old, paint-stained button down that’s been rolled to the elbows. He’s barefoot, and the whole combo is doing it for Bucky. 

“Shut up,” Steve replies, turning, holding his brush mid-air. 

“You know, if you’re into this loser, I know a guy.”

Smiling, Steve sets his brush down and wipes his hands on his jeans, smearing them with white. “My mom loved this album. When I listen to it, it makes me think of this one vacation we took, up in the Catskills? She brought an iPod, but when we got up there, the docking station was broken. So, we were limited to the five CDs she had in the car and an old boom box that they had at the front desk. This was one of the CDs. “I  _ hated _ this album by the end of that trip. But now...it just makes me smile.”

The song changes and Bucky smiles. “I wrote this one one day when I was cutting school. Held onto it for a few years. It didn’t make the cut on the first or second album, but when we recorded  _ Three Nights _ , we were one song short. I played this one as a placeholder, and the guys liked it, so here it is.”

“Your music sounds different now.”

Shrugging, Bucky looks away. “I’m not the kid I was then.”

“No,” Steve says. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant--it’s better. I really like what you’ve been playing. But--are you--I noticed you haven’t been singing?” he asks.

Bucky thinks about how to reply, and finally lands on this: “I will when they’re ready,” he says, because the truth is complicated. The truth is parts of his life now are leaking into his songs. There’s something bittersweet in his memories of Nat, of watching Sofie grow up, knowing eventually she’ll grow away, and in being in this position now. He wants...he wants to be able to be open about who he is, and what he wants. Problem is, he’s still not entirely sure about that last part. 

And he’s not sure how Steve will handle seeing himself in one of Bucky’s songs. 

He’s still musing over his answer when Steve throws a pitch he didn’t see coming. 

“Is it harder, with me here?” he asks. 

“What?”

“I mean, you’re probably not used to writing with someone underfoot. I can, I don’t know, get out during the days if you want?”

“No,” Bucky says, shaking his head immediately. “You’re not bothering me at all.”

The two look at each other for a moment, and a thought occurs to Bucky. “Am I?” he asks. “Bothering you?”

“God no,” Steve says. “I--I really like it, to be honest. Especially...you were playing something the other day. Classical I think?”

“Beethoven,” Bucky answers, because it’s always Beethoven. 

“I liked it a lot,” Steve says, and he smiles that fucking smile, the one that sends an arrow straight through Bucky’s--. 

He blinks. 

Shit. 

“Anyway,” Steve says. “The offer stands. If you need me to get out of here, just say the word. I can go to the park and sketch, whatever.”

“I’m actually going to be meeting up with the guys most of next week,” Bucky says, and then wonders just what the fuck is coming out of his mouth. “Go over some of the new stuff.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Is that...does he sound disappointed? Is Bucky imagining it? 

Fuck.

“Uh, anyway. Good night,” Bucky says. “Have a good one.”

Steve smiles then, slow and soft, and bites his bottom lip just a little before his smile stretches it away. “Sweet dreams,” he says, and leans over to turn off the wireless speaker. 

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “You, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late chapter. It was a heavy weekend at Casa chicklette. Thank you all for your support of this fic. I can't tell you how much it means to me. <3 
> 
> As I continue to educate myself on the urgent matters of today, I have found the google document at bit.ly /antiracismresources helpful. (remove the space in the address.)


	9. The Boys are Back in Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very many thanks to Deisderium, who beta'd this chapter and helped this story see the light of day. <3 I'm so grateful.

_ The Boys are Back in Town! _

_ I spy with my little eye none other than Barnes and Co back in the studio! Rumor has it that a new record is being shopped to the big labels. No word yet on the actual tunes, but sources close to Barnes say his new love has been an inspiration! Meanwhile, Barnes has limited concert dates throughout the summer. Will concertgoers get a taste of what’s to come? Either way, with so few shows, it's bound to be one hot ticket!  _

“Hey,” Bucky says, walking into the kitchen and noticing Steve next to the coffee pot. “Glad I caught you. I’m heading over to the studio today to show the guys the new stuff and get ready for the summer shows.”

“Sure,” Steve says. “Wait, what shows?”

“Shit, that’s right,” Bucky says. “I forgot to tell you. I got a few shows scattered over the summer. A couple of those all-day festivals and a few solo shows.”

“Okay,” Steve says. “Sounds fun.”

“It’s hell,” Bucky replies. “The first few years, I loved touring. After a while though, man, it’s just one strange room after the other. These won’t be bad though, they’re just weekend shows.”

“Okay,” Steve says. “Well, let me know what you need from me.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “God, sorry. I almost forgot you’d be coming along. I really get up my own ass about doing shows.”

“I mean, I could stay here,” Steve says.

“Yeah, Maria wants you there, so….”

“Sure,” Steve says. “How about i get the schedule from her and we can go from there?” Then something in Steve’s face, his stance, it shifts. He takes a sip of coffee, eyes on Bucky, and swallows. “I’m at your disposal, Buck. Just let me know what you need.” 

Is that...is he flirting? Bucky feels a flutter in the pit of his stomach. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Okay. I gotta...go.”

Steve smiles at him, but there’s something coy in the corner of his smile that makes Bucky look twice. 

“I’ll...be home for dinner,” he says, and Steve just smiles. 

“See you then.”

Walking down to the garage, Bucky mulls the interaction over again. What the fuck was that?

By the time he gets to the studio space, he’s all but forgotten the strange interaction. Instead, he’s consumed by nerves because he’s showing the guys new songs for the first time in a decade. They’re all really rough; he’s not lying to himself about that. But still.

It’s not that he hasn’t written in the last decade. It’s not. It’s just that he hasn’t written anything he doesn’t hate in the last decade. Turns out there’s a difference. He’s never been a good judge of his own music, so he’s counting on the guys to tell him if he’s way off base. Aside from one or two songs that are too personal to release, he hasn’t really put in the effort. 

Or he has, but the contract with Hydra, with Pierce...every time he sat down to write, all he could think about was Pierce lining his pockets. Maybe he’d been a fool to make that agreement with Pierce, but looking back, he also knows he’d do it all over again. Pierce had Nat over a barrel, and Bucky’d be damned if he’d ever let someone treat her like that. 

Still, if he can get this one album out, get a Gold Record out of it, he’ll be free of Pierce for good. It’s too bad; Bucky knows that whatever ends up on the album will be tainted with the knowledge that Pierce is making money off of it. A heavy price to pay for his own freedom, he thinks. 

When he gets to the studio, everyone but Denier is there. Jones is tuning up the bass, and Morita’s running some stretches, getting ready to hit the drums. Dugan’s looking at a pile of music, like he doesn’t have every single note of every single song memorized back to front. 

When he walks in, everyone’s heads pop up, and for a moment his stomach drops to the floor. 

Shit. 

He was so busy being nervous about the new music he forgot to be nervous about coming out. 

Shit. 

It lasts all of three seconds. Then Dugan comes over, gives him a hug, says “I always knew you were part queer. Kept catching you checking out my ass.”

“Not for all the tea in China,” Bucky answers, and the two of them laugh, and then the guys join in.

Then Morita says, “I don’t give a fuck what you do with your dick, but tell me you did something good with the piano.” 

Everyone laughs again, Dugan goes for the obvious joke, and then Denier shows up and they start ribbing him about being late, and after a few minutes Bucky blinks and realizes that’s it. That’s all the ribbing he’s going to take. The atmosphere has returned to perfectly normal levels. There’s no off tension, no strangeness, and he turns away for a moment to collect himself. 

He doesn’t know what he expected. To be honest, it was one thing he didn’t let himself think about much. If things went weird, he could be losing friendships that back twenty years. Instead, he’s overwhelmed by these guys who have been with him through four marriages, countless girlfriends, so much press, good and bad, all of it. They’ve been with him his whole career. 

It all could have blown away nothing.

But it didn’t, because they didn’t. They don’t see him any differently. 

He feels awash with gratitude. 

“Alright, alright,” Bucky says, and walks over to the piano, checking that it’s in tune.

Satisfied, he sits down and begins to play the rocker, the one he wrote watching Steve leave the room. He runs through solo first, and then once again and the guys join in. After the first chorus, Morita hops in, then Dugan and Jones. They pause, listening to the bridge, then come back in hard for the second verse. At the end, Dugan and Morita put together a little impromptu outro, and it’s done. 

Bucky sits with his fingers on the keys, exhilaration rushing through every bone, every vein. This is it. This is the lightning in a bottle, the feeling of absolute creation, of making something and then someone else coming along and making it better, making it perfect. 

He can feel his cheeks starting to ache with his grin, and when he looks up, the guys are grinning just as hard. 

“Jesus,” Dugan says. 

“Yeah?” Bucky asks.

“Took you long enough,” he says, but he’s smiling behind his ridiculous mustache, and when Bucky looks around the room, everyone else is smiling too.

“Well?” Denier says. “What else ya got?”

Bucky shoots him finger guns, and then runs through the new material. It’s not all gold like the “Love to Watch you Go,” but it’s good. He gets to the last one, the one that’s soft and full of melancholy, bittersweet and aching, and for that one, the guys all just stand and listen. He doesn’t have words for it yet, and that’s okay. He’s still finding them. They’ll come. 

It’s pushing eight by the time Bucky gets home and as soon as he pulls into the garage he’s feeling bad about it. 

He told Steve he’d be home for dinner, and then got so excited to be working again that he forgot about the time until Jones called him out and called him an asshole for making the rest of them miss dinner with their families. Walking into a quiet house makes him realize he’s sorry that he’s missed dinner. Makes him realize how much he’s come to like having dinner with Steve. 

He’s standing in the foyer when he hears a voice behind him.

“Hey,” Steve says. “Good, you’re home. I’m starving.”

Then he brushes past Bucky and walks into the kitchen, turning on the stove. “I’m just making pasta,” he says. “This is literally the only dish I know how to make. That okay?”

“Sure,” Bucky says, feeling out of sorts all over again. “You didn’t have to wait,” he says. “I just lost track of time.”

“I figured,” Steve says. “But I had a late lunch anyway, so.” He shrugs and goes back cooking, and Bucky watches for a moment before going to the bathroom to wash his hands. 

“Can I help?” he asks when he comes back in. 

“Sure. There’s stuff for a salad,” Steve says, nodding his head toward a bowl and a cutting board. 

Bucky walks over and starts chopping, watching as Steve cooks and drains the pasta, then adds the sauce. It smells fantastic, and sure it’s a simple meal, but there’s something about this...the domesticity of it...he and Nat had that for a while, but otherwise, it calls up his childhood. His mom would always cook dinner and he’d always make the salad and when he was out on his own for the first time, god, he used to yearn for those days, those quiet, ordinary days. 

Then Steve turns to him with two plates of pasta, loaded with a garlicky butter sauce, piled with veggies and chicken, and Bucky finds himself lonely for the moment even as he’s living it. 

It’s been a helluva day. 

When Steve passes a bottle of wine, Bucky pours himself a heavy glass and doesn’t let himself think too much about why. 

While they eat they both talk about their days, and it drives home to Bucky just how domestic this arrangement has become. How much he likes it. Likes Steve.

It might be a problem. 

“Hey, thank you,” he says again, as they clear the table together. “You didn’t have to wait for me. It was really, really nice of you.”

“Buck,” Steve says, putting down a stack of dishes and turning to Bucky. “You know how in Hawaii you got on me about thanking you for every little thing? You do it too, and...you don’t have to.” 

Steve looks down at his hands like he’s weighing his words, and Bucky lets the silence play out. When Steve finally looks back up at him, there’s something off, like he’s gone all soft around the edges. 

“Truth is since my Mom’s been gone, I’ve...been lonely. It’s nice having someone to take care of. So you don’t have to thank me for every little thing.” 

Bucky’s knocked sideways by that, because what the hell? Steve is gorgeous and he’s kind and smart and funny. How on earth could he be lonely?

He says as much. “I’m having a hard time imagining you’d lack for company if you wanted it.”

The look Steve gives him is sardonic. “Really?” Steve asks. ‘You can’t imagine what it’s like for someone to be interested in you for superficial reasons?” He cracks a sad grin. “I know what I look like. I just keep hoping to find someone who wants to see past that.”

“Sorry,” Bucky says, feeling like a heel. “I’m sorry. I know better. I mean, you’re gorgeous, we know that. But,” Bucky shrugs, uncomfortable with what he needs to say, but pushing through. “But I think it comes from the inside. And anyone who knows you for more than ten minutes is going to see that.“ 

Shrugging, Steve goes back to the dishes. “I’ve been doing alright on my own.”

Something about the way he says it makes Bucky think of being a kid and coming home to an empty apartment growing up, a little bit lonely, a little bit scared. It hurts him to think of Steve like that. 

“Hey,” he says, reaching out and putting his hand on Steve’s shoulder, turning Steve to face him. “You know you’re not alone anymore, right? I mean when all this is over. You’re--I want--I think of you as a friend,” Bucky says, hoping that Steve understands what he means. “You’re not alone.”

Steve gives him a long, speculative look, long enough that Bucky starts to wonder what Steve is seeing. After a moment, Steve shrugs. “Yeah, okay.”

If that was a test, Bucky’s pretty sure he just failed it. As he washes the dishes, he finds himself wondering why it matters. 

.

“It’s not perfect,” Bucky says, handing over the demo to Maria. “A lot of it’s still rough, but we’re working it out.”

Maria gives him a small, pleased smile, then puts the drive into her computer and presses play.

“Jesus this is gonna sound like shit.”

“Shut up, Barnes. You think I don’t know how to listen?”

With a shrug, Bucky says, “Alright. It’s your ears.”

As the opening notes of the first song sound, Maria holds her finger up to her mouth, shushing him. 

He watches her face, but she’s impassive, so instead he stares at his lap, then his phone, doing everything he can to keep himself in his seat and not run from her office. God, he hates Demo Day. 

Fourty-five minutes later, the opening of the last song plays out. It’s still sweet and melancholic, and Bucky still doesn’t have words for it. 

“That last one,” she says, once it ends.

“I don’t have the words yet. They’re coming.”

“That’s the winner,” she says. “Unless you make some shitty pop-culture reference, that’s the one that that’s gonna tear up the charts.”

“I don’t know,” Bucky says, looking down at his hands. He’s tried finding the words for it, but he knows why they haven’t come yet, and it has everything to do with his housemate and all the feelings that Bucky’s been hiding, even from himself. They’ll come. When he’s ready to face it, they’ll come. 

They always do. 

“I’m gonna start shopping this, but there’s already a bidding war.”

“That’s hilarious,” Bucky says. “Wasn’t it just last year that no one wanted me?”

Last spring, Bucky’d asked what if he wanted to put out another album. Maria put feelers out, but the reception was lukewarm without a demo. Everyone wanted to know if Bucky still had it, but no one was willing to gamble on it.

“Come on,” Maria says, giving him The Look. “You were nine years without an album, Barnes. Of course they were gonna low-ball any offers.” 

“I know,” Bucky says. “Alright. No Hydra, no matter what they offer.”

“They’ve already offered 50 million, but they want to retain the rights.”

It takes everything Bucky has not to snarl. “Did I somehow lose Sofie’s college fund when I wasn’t looking?”

Maria gives him a sardonic look. “No.”

“Then no Hydra, I don’t care how sweet the deal is. And I’m keeping the masters. No matter what. C’mon, Maria, you know this.”

Finally, her face breaks into a beautiful smile. “I know. But it’s my job to bring every serious offer to the table. You know this,” she says, pushing his words back to him. 

“You really think it’s okay?”

“No,” she says, her face softening. “I think it might be the best thing you’ve ever done.”

“Well now you’re just flattering me,” he says. 

“I would never,” she replies, but they’re both smiling, and for the first time, Bucky feels like the new record might just be okay. 

.

Two weeks later, Bucky’s frantically running around his bedroom, trying to figure out which suit jacket he wants to wear for Saturday’s show, and wishing he’d spent less time on the new album and more time rehearsing some of the old songs. 

He runs through lyrics in his head, then stops when he realizes he got one wrong. 

“Wait, it’s heartbreak, not heartache, come the fuck on, Barnes,” he says, then swears as he realizes he almost forgot the styling cream for his hair. God. 

At one point Maria suggested a binder with the lyrics and music for Bucky to keep at the piano, but Jesus that made him feel old as fuck. He’d nixed it, then regretted it. Still does, some days. 

Oh well. 

He’s about ready to swear again when he can’t find the shirt he was planning to wear home when Steve knocks on his side of the bathroom door.

“Yeah?” Bucky yells. “You packed?”

Steve opens the door and smiles. “All packed. Need some help?”

“No. Yes. Is this blue or black?” Bucky asks, holding up a shirt. 

“Navy,” Steve says. “But if you’re ever in doubt, hold it up to something off-white and it’ll be clear. 

“Whatever,” Bucky says, and throws it onto the bed, near his suitcase. 

“What’s going on?” Steve asks. He’s smiling, looking amused, and Bucky wants to knock his block off. 

“I can’t find my hair stuff, and I don’t know this hotel, or the opening band, and we gotta get to the airport, and--”

“Hey,” Steve says, and takes Bucky by the shoulders. “Listen to me. You are James Barnes, and no matter what you wear, or what your hair looks like, that audience is paying to see you. They’re excited to see you. So you have nothing to be nervous about. 

“Besides, if you keep acting like a diva, I’ll tell everyone that you put whipped cream in your coffee when you think no one’s looking.”

“Do not!” Bucky says, scandalized. 

“Buck,” Steve says, close and warm and conspiratorial. “I’ve seen the container at the back of the fridge. I know.”

“I’ll never confess,” Bucky says, but it worked. He’s no longer feeling like the world’s biggest fraud. 

With a deep breath, he turns around, finishes packing, and together, the two of them go downstairs to meet the car that will take them to the airport. 

He’s got this. 

“Two encores and the crowd goes wild,” Steve says, as Bucky bursts into the green room. There were some awkward introductions before the show, and Bucky wants to kick himself for not introducing everyone sooner, just to get it over with, but also he’s glad. He hates lying to the guys about who Steve is. Hates it. 

He’d given it a lot of thought, and at the end of the day, he realized that he wouldn’t mind them knowing, but knowing would put some responsibility on them to keep the secret, and he didn’t want to put that burden on his guys. 

So, Bucky walks into the green room and right into Steve’s arms, who’s currently giving him the hug of his life. 

God, it’s nice. 

He’s heard the term skin hungry and never gave it much thought, but now, yeah, he gets it. His body wants to be right where it is, right in Steve’s arms, and he’s shocked to realize it has nothing to do with sex. 

“You were amazing,” Steve says, close to Bucky’s ear. 

Bucky leans in, holding Steve close the way Steve is holding him. They cling for a beat too long, before Steve lets him go, and greets him with a radiant smile. 

“You guys were so great! I don’t think I’ve ever seen a show so good!”

“Eh, thanks,” Morita says, but then he’s got his wife and two kids surrounding him for hugs of their own. 

When Bucky looks around, he sees that all the guys have someone and he realizes how lonely it’s been to come off stage and not have anyone there for him. Janie was trying to get her career started, and it didn’t make sense for her to follow him around. On the surface, it’s a good reason, but now that he looks back, he realizes the truth: she just didn’t care. At least when she finally left, it wasn’t a surprise. 

Steve slides his hand down Bucky’s arm and tangles their fingers together. “You hungry? I put a plate together for you. You didn’t really eat before the show.”

“Starved,” Bucky says, and Steve smiles at him. 

Maybe it’s just the high of the show, but Bucky feels like he’s on top of the world. He takes the food that Steve offers, cracks open a beer, and he and the guys and their families sit around and dissect the show, calling out missed beats and high-fiving close calls. 

“Hey Barnes,” Dugan yells. It’s “heartache” not “heartbreak!”

“Dammit!” Bucky groans, and the whole room erupts with laughter. 

“How did you forget that?” Dugan says. “You wrote the damn song!”

“Language!” Jones’s wife, Shayera says, covering the ears of their little girl. 

Dugan makes his “oh, shit!” face, and everyone laughs some more. 

It’s a good time, everyone laughing and joking, and in the moment, Bucky wants to mount a world tour, do every state, a bunch of countries. It’s a high like nothing else he’s ever known, going on tour, and in the heat of the moment, he longs for it. There’s a mindlessness to touring as well. Get up, eat, get to the venue, sound check, light cues, play the show, get the rush, if it’s a good night, find someone to get off with, get to the airport, lather, rinse repeat. 

It’s like an endless party when everything’s right. When it’s not...well, you just wish the party would stop. 

Everyone winds down for a bit and then groups of people start peeling off, one by one. 

“You almost ready?” Steve asks, his voice low in Bucky’s ear. It sends a shiver through his skin.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, leaning back into Steve. He’s taking a liberty, taking something he wants because he can, because of circumstances, but it’s only for a few seconds, his back pressed against the heat of Steve’s chest, and then he gathers himself and they leave. 

Bucky signs autographs at the back door when they leave; mostly women a little bit older than him, but a few younger women that make him do a double take. 

Then a kid--he’s no more than eighteen, if that--pushes a magazine in front of him. “MIster Barnes? Would you please?”

Bucky takes the magazine and the sharpie that the kid offers and asks who to make it out to. 

“Cody,” he says, and Bucky starts to write. When he hands back the magazine, something about the kid makes him pause. 

“Aren’t you a little young for this kind of music?” Bucky asks. “Shouldn’t you be listening to, I don’t know, Panic at the Disco, something like that?”

The kid laughs. “I like them too,” he says. “But, uhm, it’s a big deal, what you did. My mom, she sees it different now. You changed her mind. I was so scared to come out, but she didn’t kick me out. So. Thanks.”

It’s...fuck it’s a gutpunch and one he was not expecting. 

Conceptually, he understood that coming out as Bi was something that might benefit someone else. 

But here? Now? Being confronted with an actual human whose life might be a little bit easier because of him? It’s nothing he was prepared for. 

“Hey,” Bucky says, pausing to take Cody’s hand. “Your mom loves you,” he says. “She would have come around.”

Cody just smiles at him. “Thanks again, Mr. Barnes.”

When they get back to the room, Steve sends Bucky to the shower, where he soaps up and tries to put that moment out of his mind. He thinks about jerking off just out of habit, he usually likes to after a show, but he’s not really feeling like his usual post-show self. 

When he gets out, he’s thinking about having a strong drink and hitting the hay, but Steve’s got the most ridiculous grin on his face, and Bucky can’t help but be intrigued. 

“What the hell?” he asks. “What’s up with you?”

Steve’s smiling in full now, that megawatt smile that makes Bucky smile in return. “Look in the fridge,” he says. “The freezer.”

Bucky goes to the freezer and finds a pint of ice cream. 

“It’s chocolate bourbon pecan. Try some,” Steve says excitedly. 

So Bucky grabs one of the plastic spoons on the counter and holy shit. 

“Jesus Christ,” he says around a mouthful. “Where did you get this?”

“Yes! I read about it when I was looking up the venue, and called ahead to have a pint delivered to the room. Rich people really do live better.”

“Only a pint?” Bucky says. “Sucks to be you, ‘cause I am not sharing.”

“Jerk!” Steve yells, but he’s laughing.

“Too bad, so sad,” Bucky says back, but dances out of the way when Steve comes close. 

“Come on!” Steve laughs. “There’s two spoons for a reason!”

“What spoon?” Bucky asks, hiding it behind his back. 

Steve comes around and boxes him in, even as Bucky tries to get out of the way. In a moment, he’s pinned up against the counter, with Steve pressed right up against him, arms wrapped around him and he fights Bucky for the second spoon.

“Give it up,” Steve laughs, pressing his full body against Bucky, trying to get at the spoon.

“Never happen,” Bucky grunts, even as he feels the edge of the counter digging into his back. 

It’s all good until he feels Steve’s breath against his neck, and then all at once it goes from two guys goofing off, to sexual tension so thick he can taste it. 

Steve’s got one hand on Bucky’s hip, the other down his back, and they’re clinched together so close that Bucky can feel one of Steve’s thighs slotted between his own. 

“Buck,” Steve says, but his voice is low and rough, and a little breathless. 

Bucky looks up into those gorgeous eyes and feels his stomach clench.

They hold like that for a moment, Steve looking at him, and then his eyes dart to Bucky’s mouth and Bucky instinctively tilts his head. 

Steve takes a deep breath and steps back, and the two of them look at each other for a moment. 

“I win,” Bucky says,” trying to cut the tension. 

“You’re the king of the hill,” Steve replies with a small smile. 

Smiling back, Bucky holds out one of the spoons. “I’m a benevolent dictator,” he replies. “C’mon.”

Steve takes the spoon and follows as Bucky heads to the couch. He turns on the TV and they settle on a movie, something sci-fi but who’s paying attention? 

After a few minutes though, the tension eases, and by the time Bucky’s ready to hit the hay, everything’s back to normal. 

Still, when he climbs into bed that night he feels the tension all over again. It’s not until Steve pulls him close with a gruff “C’mere” that Bucky feels himself start to relax.

Steve’s become a good friend over the last couple of months. Getting the album out was like pulling teeth at times, but Steve always found a way to make him feel easy, and Bucky, God, he needed that. 

Still, as he slips down into an exhausted sleep, he realizes that there’s a part of him, maybe bigger than he wants to admit, that wonders if the two of them could someday be something more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been doing a lot of reading this week on the movements to defund and/or abolish the police in America. I have seen that reformation doesn't work. Our forces have become more militarized, and more violent toward those they are meant to serve and protect, and I'm looking for answers. I found a useful primer at Vox and a more in-depth explanation at Critical Response. 
> 
> Also, for those who celebrate, happy Pride, friends. <3 I'm looking forward to celebrating with friends next year. <3


	10. Music Man Makes His Move!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deisderium is invaluable AND SHE WRITES HER OWN AMAZING FIC TOO! Go read!! :D

_ Music Man Makes His Move!  _

_ Music insiders are going wild for previews of the forthcoming Barnes album. This is the first studio effort that Barnes has put out in over a decade. Has his new love been an inspiration? Time will tell, but for now we hear that there’s an outright bidding war. Barnes hasn’t been with a label since his parting with Hydra records ten years ago. There has long been speculation that Hydra has something to do with Barnes’s long absence from the charts, however, when asked, Alexander Pierce, music mogul and President of Hydra Records stated that he wishes Barnes every success and said that the door is always open if Barnes wants to come home. Will there be a happy reunion? Stay tuned!  _

When they get home, things settle into a routine: Bucky at the studio all day, Steve making art, and the two of them coming together for dinner and to decompress about the day. Sometimes Steve goes to the studio with Bucky, where he’ll sit in the corner, drawing on his tablet while Bucky and the guys work through each song, trying to get to a place where everyone’s happy. It’s a good routine, and Bucky finds himself feeling easier than he has in a long, long time. 

It’s not something he consciously thinks about, but there’s a gradual creep. He wakes up semi-hungover less often because he’s drinking a whole lot less these days. He doesn’t get caught up in his own head over this or that, his brain revisiting every wrong he’s ever inflicted, or that’s been inflicted upon him. The ghosts of the past don’t haunt him like they did before. 

Objectively, he knows it’s up to a few things: not drinking so much, working out a whole lot more, eating and sleeping regularly, and of course, finally getting a new record off. 

Part of him is still surprised he did it. For the last decade, every time he’s thought about writing, every time he’s given in to that urge, it’s been ruined by the spectre of Pierce. Sure, he knew it was a shit deal when he signed it, and sure, he would do it all over again. When he saw how deep Pierce had his claws into Nat, all he could see was red. And for a long time, he was content in knowing that the deal he made gave Nat her freedom, but now that he’s writing again, he can admit that the last few years have been hard. 

Music is his first love, his lifetime companion. Being closed off from it for so long has taken a toll, he can see that now. 

And if Pierce gets 33% of whatever Bucky puts out, well, at least it’s not a hundred.

He figures Pierce knew just where to draw the line between taking away all motivation and making a deal just shitty enough that Bucky would hate every moment of it. 

All the same, he knows he’d do it again. 

In a heartbeat, he’d do it again. 

He’s spacing out, thinking about that, and about how good he feels in general while Steve and Sofie chatter over dessert. He loves that they get along so well. He knows Sof is mature for her age: having famous parents and a whole lot of money will do that, no matter how hard he and Nat tried to shield her. 

Still, it makes him feel warm, to see Sofie and Steve getting on so easy. He’s just about to re-engage with the conversation when the doorbell rings.

Bucky opens the door to see Nat standing on his front porch.

“You’re here early,” he says, surprised to see her.

She gives him a shrug and little bob of her head. “Thought I’d come and meet your new fella, see if he’s good enough for you.”

“Har har,” Bucky says, but stands aside to let her enter. 

He leads her in and introduces her to Steve, then steps away to pour her a glass of wine. He knows she means well, and he’s not mad, but he is surprised. She’d made a point of coming to dinner with the ex-wives a few times. Lauren didn’t seem to mind, but it put Janie is a real tizzy, every time. Thinking back, he figures Janie was probably on to something when she said Nat made her feel like second best. 

It’s not that Nat was trying to one-up her, but god, Nat oozes class and good taste. Janie just couldn’t compete. 

Bucky walks back to the kitchen for a dish of ice cream for Nat. He knows her well enough to know that she’ll want a drink and he also knows that ice cream is her kryptonite, and it always puts her in a good mood. 

When he gets back to the table, everyone’s laughing and Nat looks relaxed, so a part of him relaxes as well. The four of them sit at the table, talking and eating ice cream, and after an hour it feels like no time has gone by at all. It’s not until Sofie gets up and starts gathering her things that Bucky realizes the time. 

“I’ll see you out,” Bucky says.

“I need to check on something upstairs,” Steve says, and Bucky could kiss him for giving him and Nat a little space. 

They’re at the front door when Sofie walks up, her backpack slung over one shoulder. 

“Sofie, isn’t there something you needed from your room?” Nat asks. 

Sofie looks between the two of them before getting the hint and going back to her room. 

“Well?” Bucky asks, knowing that Nat will tell him the truth. 

“He’s great,” she says, and Bucky knows she’s being honest. “Smart, funny...I can see what you saw in him.”

“Yeah, and he’s great with Sof.”

“I noticed.”

“But?” Bucky asks.

Natasha gives him a long and steady look, unblinking green eyes taking him in. “Be careful.” 

“C’mon,” Bucky demurs. “You know me. It’s fine.”

“James,” she starts, then takes his hand in hers. “I  _ do _ know you. And I’m telling you again: Be careful. I don’t want to see you get hurt,” she says, and Bucky shrugs. 

“I’m covered,” he answers, looking away. He hates the way she sees right through him, and he really doesn’t want to confront what she sees. He’s not ready for that, not yet. 

“He’s good for you,” she says. “I like that. I can tell you’ve been drinking less. You’re not as puffy.”

“Jesus, Nat,” Bucky says, because Jesus! He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he moves on. “It’s nice having someone around, I’ll say that. I’ve been thinking, maybe once this is all done we can talk about splitting custody again.”

“You know I’m open to that,” she says, “as long as you’re not on tour.”

“Come on,” he says, because no way would he take Sofie on tour. No way. “I figure we can leave it up to her. I just want to get some more time before she’s off to college.”

“Three years,” Nat says. 

“Jesus. She was five last week.”

“I know,” Nat says, 

“Are the grownups done talking?” Sofie calls out, heading toward the front door.

“Such a smartass,” Bucky says. 

“She gets that from you,” Nat says.

“Hey, at least she got your looks,” Bucky answers, pulling Sofie into a hug. “Next Sunday?” he asks, holding her tight. 

“Yeah, Daddy.”

“Hey,” he says, tugging on a hank of her long red hair. “Think about maybe moving back next year. Just part of the time.”

Sofie gives him a long, speculative look that reminds him so much of her mother it gives him chills. “Okay,” she says eventually. And then, “Yeah,” with a smile. 

“Okay.”

“Come on, kiddo,” Nat says, slinging an arm around Sofie. “Let’s let the old man get to bed.”

“Hey, Tash?” Bucky says, and Natasha pauses and looks back at him. “Thanks. For...you know.”

“What are friends for?” she asks, then turns and walks away. 

It’s a little after three in the morning and Bucky gives up the ghost on getting any sleep. His mind’s full of too many things: Sofie moving back in, the fall when Bucky will be touring in earnest, the press and all the nasty things they’re saying now, and how much worse it will be when he and Steve “break up.” 

He’s gazing into the open refrigerator, trying to figure out what he wants, something that will be a reasonable substitute for the booze and the sex that he usually uses to take the edge off. He’s about to give up and pour a couple slugs of whiskey into a glass when he hears Steve approach. 

“Hey,” Steve says, voice thick and sleepy. “Can’t sleep?”

“Nah,” Bucky says, closing the fridge and leaning back against the counter. There’s just enough natural light from the moon for him to take in Steve, half dressed in pajama bottoms, that gorgeous chest bare save for a tiny patch of hair at the center. “You either?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, yawning. “I don’t know. Bad dream I guess.” He scratches his chest and moves to the fridge, opening it and staring blankly in, before pulling out the milk. When he offers Bucky a glass, he accepts, and the two of them drink their milk while polishing off the last of the chocolate chip cookies that Sofie brought with her. 

“Anything on your mind?” Bucky asks. 

Steve shrugs and busies himself with a cookie, breaking it into little pieces. “I’m going to miss her, you know? I didn’t think about that.”

“Sof?” Bucky asks, surprised. He thinks Sofie’s the best thing since sliced bread, but he also knows he’s biased. 

“Yeah. She’s so great. You guys did an incredible job with her. And you and Natasha--” Steve pulls a face. “Given everything, I’m kind of amazed at what good friends you are. It says a lot about the both of you.”

“Divorce is hard, but we made it work for Sofie.”

“Still, I don’t know many people who would be so forgiving.”

“What’s that mean?” Bucky asks, puzzled.

“Oh,” Steve’s face falls. “Maybe I got it wrong. It just...seemed like she cheated?”

Bucky takes a deep breath. No one--no one--reported on that story. There wasn’t even a whiff of it on Page Six, Bucky made sure. Pierce made sure.

“That was never in the papers. How did you find out about that?” Bucky recognizes the shimmer of anger running through his blood, and he bites it back, trying not to let this get to him. 

Steve senses it though, because he straightens up, backing into the counter behind him.

“I didn’t--” He holds his hands up. “I assumed, from what I read. Just..the timing of things, and when she got together with that guy. She said they’d met on set, and everyone assumed it was the movie she did after the divorce, but he did an interview talking about meeting her on a movie before, so...I just assumed. I wouldn’t--I won’t say anything. That’s private. I guess I was just mad at her on your behalf, but wow, she’s charming.”

Bucky tenses as Steve speaks, and he’s ready to to start yelling until he realizes there’s no need. He and Nat have been divorced for a long time now. And...he trusts Steve. 

God, he trusts him more than probably either of his ex-wives. 

“I...did a lot to make sure that story never saw the light of day. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep that to yourself.”

“Of course,” Steve says. “Buck, I would never--”

“I know,” Bucky says, holding his hand up. “I trust you.”

He watches as Steve’s body lets go of some of the tension it’s been holding. “That means a lot,” Steve says. “I would never do anything to hurt your family.”

“I...think I knew that,” Bucky says. “At least I do now.” He offers Steve a small smile, and Steve gives him one back. “It’s all water under the bridge, anyway.”

They look at each other in the silence, and Bucky would give anything to know what Steve is really thinking. When they first met, Bucky thought Steve was uncomplicated and kind of sweet. Over time, he’s come to learn that still waters run deep. Despite his often sunny disposition, Steve holds his cards close to his chest. 

“Penny for your thoughts,” Bucky says, breaking the silence between them.

Smiling, Steve shakes his head. “You’re a good man, Bucky Barnes. Quit trying to tell yourself otherwise.” Steve smiles at Bucky, gives him a long look and Bucky squirms under the weight of it.

“I’m gonna head to bed. You should think about doing the same.”

“Yes, mother.”

Bucky grins and flips him off, heading for the stairs. He imagines he’ll be up until the sunrise, turning over the things that Steve just said. Instead, he’s asleep the moment his head hits the pillow. 

.

Bucky’s at the piano, trying to catch the tail of a phrase he’s been chasing since the middle of the night. He woke up with half of a melody in his head, and he knows if he can just get the refrain, the rest of the song will unravel from his fingertips, easy as breathing. 

He thinks he’s almost got it when Steve bursts into the room, all lit up and shining so bright it almost hurts to look at him. 

“Buck!” he rushes to where Bucky’s seated at the piano and then looks at the pencil and sheet music paper, full of Bucky’s scribbles, and pauses. “Shit! Sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, and starts backing out. “I’ll tell you later.”

Bucky watches his wide eyes and the contrition on his face with a smile. “Well it’s too late now,” he says, and sets the pencil aside. “What’s up?”

“I didn’t realize I was interrupting. I should have thought--.”

“Steve, it’s fine. What’s going on?” Bucky’s so curious, because even though Steve looks sorry about interrupting, his eyes are still so bright.

“I got in,” he says, and hands an envelope to Bucky.

“What’s this?” Bucky takes the envelope and pulls out the letter inside.

“On behalf of Dr. Frances Bronet it gives me great pleasure to welcome you to the Class of ….” Bucky blinks. “You got in.”

“I got in!” 

Steve’s smile might be the prettiest thing Bucky’s ever seen. God, when’s the last time he was this excited about anything? “That’s so great, Steve! Let’s celebrate! Anything you want.”

“I don’t--I don’t even know! I’ve wanted this for so long. I didn’t really think I’d get in. This is….” A little of the shine starts to slip and Steve looks around, before moving to take a seat on the couch. “God, I didn’t think I’d get in. I have so much to think about. This is crazy.”

“Hey,” Bucky says, moving to sit next to him. “You earned this. You worked damned hard to get here, Steve. Take some time and enjoy it. What’d Sam say when you told him?”

Steve blinks at him, suddenly looking shy. “I didn’t--you’re the first person I told,” he says, and doesn’t that go off like a tiny explosion inside of Bucky’s heart?

“I--Thank you,” he says, blinking and trying to reel in the sensation that’s nesting in his chest. “I’m so happy for you. Why don’t you go call Sam, and I’ll figure out our evening, okay? Unless you want to get together with your friends? You could have them over if you wanted?”

Shaking his head, Steve grins at Bucky. “Nah, another time. Maybe we can do something with just us?” He’d look bashful, Bucky thinks, if he could wipe the smile from his face.

“I got this,” Bucky says, and winks at Steve. “Go. Tell your people,” he says, and watches as Steve starts to walk away. “And Steve?” he calls, watching Steve turn to look at him as he walks backwards. “I’m proud of you.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, and walks back toward Bucky. “Hey, thanks. Your encouragement is what got me off my ass, got me to apply. I wouldn’t have done it without you.” Leaning in, he presses a quick kiss to Bucky’s cheek, before getting up and walking away, fishing his phone out of his pocket as he goes.

Bucky sits there for a minute, hands resting across his thighs and blinks once, twice. 

Emotion roils up inside of Bucky, something strong and vivid, clenching at his chest. Steve told him first. He wants it to mean something so damn bad, even though he knows it doesn’t. Steve is here doing a job. They have a contract. Even if Bucky’s noticed the creep of emotion from companionship to something more, he knows it’s just not like that for Steve. 

It’s okay. He knew what he was getting into, and honestly, he’s happy to have what he does. No one else got to see Steve in his incandescent happiness. That was all Bucky’s, and he’s grateful. 

A part of him feels guilty that Steve’s stuck celebrating with him, and not out with his friends, or better (worse), someone special. He knows exactly what Steve’s getting out of their arrangement, but he can’t help but wonder if Steve thinks it’s worth it. He’d ask, but he knows Steve would never tell him the truth, not if he thought it would hurt Bucky’s feelings. He doesn’t think he’s ever met a man so full of integrity. It’s almost enough to make a true believer out of him, even after everything he’s seen.

Almost. 

With that thought in mind, he sets about making their celebration a night to remember. 

  
  
  


Two hours later finds them slicing through the bay, the smell of the ocean sharp and clean, the water sounding as sweet as Chopin in Bucky’s ear. 

“This is amazing,” Steve says, looking out ahead. Bucky can see the way the sunset dances on the water, and it makes him feel like a knot inside of him is finally loosing, letting him breathe deep for the first time since this whole thing started. 

He gets a decent way out, slipping past the other boats and getting them far enough from the shore that even telephoto lenses won’t be able to capture much. He stills the engine and drops the anchor. 

They’d picked up a couple of paps when they left Bucky’s place, but lost them once they hit the private dock at the marina. Either way, it’s going to look great in the papers: the two of them sneaking off for a cozy oceanic date.

Bucky drops down below to pick up the food he’d had delivered. There’s a bottle of champagne, some meats and cheeses and fruit; nothing heavy, but enough for the two of them to feel satisfied. They eat and make easy conversation, and Bucky marvels again at how nice this all is. When this is all over, it’s going to be very hard to let Steve go. 

Still, Bucky wouldn’t trade this for the world. If nothing else, it’s proof that he can still feel...God, Steve makes him feel like a kid again sometimes; nervous and hopeful and dizzy. 

They watch the sun set, and Bucky asks what Steve’s looking forward to most, come the fall. The contract ends just before the first week of classes. It’ll be good for Steve, Bucky thinks. He can get settled into classes right away and won’t have a lot of idle time to miss the craziness of living with Bucky. 

As the stars come out and the moon shines on the gentle waves of the bay, Bucky glances over to see Steve looking out at the water in wonder. 

“It’s pretty amazing, huh?” Bucky can’t help but feel a little bit of pride that he gets to be the one to show Steve this new view of the world. 

“I would never have had the chance to do this on my own. Thank you,” he says, tearing his eyes away to look at Bucky.

“That’s nothing,” Bucky says, standing up and holding his hand out for Steve. “Wait until you see this.”

Steve lets Bucky pull him up and drag him over to the opposite rail, where the whole of Manhattan is spread out in front of them.

“Bucky,” Steve breathes, a soft smile playing on his lips. 

He looks about as dazzled as anything Bucky’s ever seen, and he can’t help the smile that comes so fast and so big his cheeks start to ache with it. 

“This is amazing,” Steve says. He’s standing next to the railing, looking up at the moon and the stars, and how bright they shine out here, away from the light pollution. 

“This is my favorite getaway,” Bucky says, looking out across the water. In the distance there are other boats, some lights out and some he can see are still enjoying the cool spring evening. “Bring that over,” Bucky says, gesturing to the bag with the food. He’s got a couple of slices of cheesecake in there, it seems like just about that time.

Steve turns to grab it, and Bucky turns to the stereo, putting on one of his favorite recordings: a modern composer playing a classical style. 

“You don’t mind?” he asks Steve, when Steve cocks his head at the music. 

“It’s pretty,” Steve says, pausing to listen a little more. “Besides, it’s about what I expected, coming from an old man like you.”

Bucky’s mouth drops open for a second before he belts out one of the deepest laughs he’s had in years. Jesus. This kid!

“Fuck you,” Bucky answers, tipping his head back to catch his breath. 

“I think that’s what got us into this mess,” Steve answers, grinning wide. 

“Christ, you’re a smartass.”

Steve shrugs. “All part of my charm.”

“If that’s your story.”

Nodding and grinning still, Steve eases off his hoodie. “It’s nice tonight.”

“Yeah,” Bucky answers. The motion of the bay is soft and easy, the boat hardly bobbing on the current. He pulls out the cheesecake, and refills their acrylic tumblers. “Here’s to getting the fuck out of Dodge,” Bucky says. 

“Here, here,” Steve answers, and takes a sip of the bubbly. “Jesus, how the hell am I supposed to go back to Two Buck Chuck after this?”

Blinking, Bucky looks at Steve and says, “Are you telling me that there’s a wine out there that’s two dollars a bottle? And that you drink it?”

“Well,” Steve says, “it’s actually three. But yeah.”

“I feel like I’m literally saving your life. No one should drink three dollar wine.”

“Snob,” Steve says, but he’s smiling.

“Yeah, like you’d drink it if you didn’t have to.”

Steve laughs, throwing his head back, one arm coming over his chest. “Honestly,” he says, once his laughter dies down, “I don’t think I’d even cook with it.”

Bucky smiles and tips his glass Steve’s way. “A toast. To Pratt’s next artistic genius.”

Steve smiles, his face going all soft and sweet, and it’s like a knife to Bucky’s heart. Ten more weeks, and someone else gets all those smiles. It’s a Goddamned shame, is what it is. 

His thoughts are uncomfortable enough that Bucky gets up and goes to the railing, looking back out over Manhattan. All the people there, living their lives, day in and day out. How many broken hearts is he looking at right now? How many people starry-eyed with new love? How many people, he wonders, comfortable in an old love, one that’s solid and still growing, deeply rooted, secure enough to be safe, but fresh enough to still bloom? 

“Penny for your thoughts,” Steve says, and Bucky tilts his head to look at him. 

“There’s a million love songs happening right now, just waiting for someone to write them.”

“That’s awful hopeful, coming from you.”

Bucky chuckles. “Nah, I was just wondering how many people we’re looking at right now with broken hearts.”

“Annnnd there’s the curmudgeon I know and love,” Steve says, and Bucky reminds himself that it’s a saying, nothing more. 

The air between them grows cool and silent, and Bucky doesn’t have it in him to break it, make it easy for the kid. Not right now. He just...needs a minute.

“Hey,” Steve says, and Bucky turns to him. 

He’s beautiful, here in the moonlight, the smell of the ocean all around them, the fringe of his bangs rustling in the wind. Bucky would keep him here, like this, forever if he could. Forever.

Or maybe just one minute more. 

Before he can say anything, Steve is crowding up next to him, cupping Bucky’s cheek with one big hand and looking at Bucky’s mouth with intent. 

“What are you doing?” Bucky asks. He couldn't take his eyes off Steve if he tried.

“Celebrating,” Steve says. “And I’m tired of pretending I don’t want you. Aren’t you tired, Buck?”

Before Bucky can say anything, Steve is leaning down, coming so, so close. Bucky feels the warmth of his breath against his lips, and he realizes that Steve is waiting for him to say okay. He’s waiting on Bucky’s go.

“Steve,” Bucky says, and to his ear it’s a please. It’s desperation and fright, and it’s yearning with the entirety of his big dumb heart. 

Closing the gap, Bucky presses his lips to Steve’s with a single, chaste kiss. 

That’s all it seems to take for Steve to take the lead, pressing his body up against Bucky’s, taking Bucky’s face in both hands and kissing him for all he’s worth. He gasps into Bucky’s mouth, and it lights a fire up Bucky’s spine, that small sound of desire, knowing it’s for him. 

Christ. 

“Oh, God,” Bucky gasps, as Steve presses his mouth to Bucky’s throat, soft and sucking, then biting and sharp. It feels  _ so _ good.

Bucky wraps his arms around Steve’s neck, pulling them closer together for one perfect second, and then his brain reengages. 

Getting his hands on Steve’s shoulders, he gives a gentle push. “Steve,” he says. “We can’t.”

“We can,” Steve says, and slides his hands into Bucky’s hair. 

“Contract,” Bucky says, even as his lids flutter closed. Everything about this feels so good.

“No,” Steve says. “Not tonight. Give me tonight. Give it one night off. I’m taking it. Besides,” he says, pulling their hips together so that Bucky can feel the way they’re both hard. “You want this as much as I do. Give me--let me have this. Let  _ us _ have this.”

He doesn’t wait for Bucky’s answer, he just dives in for one more dizzying kiss. 

“Christ,” Bucky says, resting one hand on Steve’s hip and groping his chest with the other. “Your tits.”

“Not tits,” Steve says, even as he arches into Bucky’s hand.

“Wanna get my mouth on you,” Bucky says, and slides his fingers up under Steve’s shirt. His skin is warm, hot. As Steve hunches a little to get at Bucky’s neck, Bucky can feel the ridges of his abs. Flashes of that night run through his mind, the way Steve had looked, rising up over him, thrusting deep, the way he’d held eye contact. He thinks about the little bed below deck, thinks about getting Steve spread out and putting his mouth on every last inch of flesh. 

“Fuck,” he groans.

“We’re getting there,” Steve mutters against Bucky’s neck.

“No. We don’t have lube, condoms. I don’t keep that stuff here,” he says, because he doesn’t. He’s never brought someone out on the _ Triumph _ to fuck. Mostly he’s brought Sofie out, and once in a while, a couple of the guys from the band, to go fishing. He never wanted to haunt the  _ Triumph  _ with the ghosts of hookups past. 

Which tells him a lot more than he’s comfortable with right now. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve says, dropping to his knees. He looks up at Bucky, mouth already wet and swollen from the kissing. “I can still make you feel good. Let me make you feel good.” 

He has his hands on the waistband of Bucky’s jeans, on his knees, waiting for permission. 

“Yeah,” Bucky says, the word sounding as punched out as he feels. Now that it’s happening, he can admit how much he wants this, wants Steve, even if it is only for one night. 

Steve doesn’t waste any time, tearing open Bucky’s jeans and sliding his boxers down to his thighs, and then nuzzling in against Bucky’s hard cock. Bucky feels Steve’s hot breath just before his lips start kissing their way up the length of him. It’s mesmerizing, watching Steve’s beautiful face as he works his way up, eyes closed like he’s in heaven. 

When he reaches the tip, he pauses, and looks up at Bucky as he opens his mouth. His tongue flicks into the slit and Bucky doesn’t even try to bite back his moan. 

Mouth full of Bucky’s cock, Steve grins, then closes his eyes and goes back to work, seemingly intent on pulling every last gasp, moan, and curse out of Bucky, with as much pleasure as possible. 

It isn’t long before Bucky’s gasping for breath, one hand in Steve’s hair, the other gripping the rail behind him, holding on as he draws closer and closer to his orgasm. 

Steve pulls off and looks up at him, eyes wide and mouth red, and says, “In my mouth. I want it,” and then goes back to sucking Bucky off like it’s the best thing he’s ever gotten to do. 

“Steve,” he pants, and he’s trying not to thrust, he’s trying, but his hips jerk and Steve puts his hands on Bucky’s thighs, pulls him in, like it’s okay to fuck his face and that’s all it takes, just the image of it in his head, holding Steve’s hair and fucking into his mouth, and Bucky’s going off, trying to quiet his groan even as he breaks to pieces. 

When he’s done he kind of slides down, landing on his ass, and he’s instantly got a lapful of Steve, who’s holding him close, pressing soft kisses against his face and hair. 

“You’re gorgeous when you come,” Steve says, and Bucky can’t even process that. Bucky looks at him and Steve is smiling, a little cocky, before he comes in for a kiss that’s hot enough to give Bucky ideas. 

“Your turn,” Bucky says, and Steve pulls away and shakes his head. 

“Take me home. Take me home and fuck me.” 

“Steve…”

“I want you to take me home and fuck me in that huge fucking bed,” he says, and leans in to bite at Bucky’s earlobe. It sends a streak of want through him, enough that Bucky can imagine it, Steve spread open against cool, gray sheets, Bucky taking him apart, making him feel so good. 

“Yeah,” Bucky says, because fuck it, they’re here now. 

“Take me home and make me come all over your sheets,” Steve says, and it’s so delightfully filthy that now Bucky wants it, too. “I want you to smell like me when you wake up in the morning.”

“You want a lot,” Bucky says, his brain already fogging with the ways he can wring every last bit of pleasure from Steve.

Steve pulls back to look Bucky in the eye. “I want everything,” he says. 

Bucky swallows and tries not to read anything to that, because he’s half naked and Steve’s dick is hard and people say things they don’t mean when they’re getting off. 

“Okay,” Bucky says, and Steve lights up, Jesus, like the Times Square Christmas tree. Before he can say anything else, Steve dives in for a long, deep kiss. 

“Take me home,” Steve says again. It sounds something deep inside of Bucky, Steve saying home, like it’s a place where they both belong, together. He’s hungry for it, he thinks with surprise. He wants that. Wants Steve to want it. 

Bucky wastes no time getting them back to the Marina, and then hustling them into the car and home. When they get there, they’re on each other like starving men, and maybe they are. God knows Bucky’d fucked himself raw a few times, thinking about that first night with Steve, how good it was. The way he’d touched Bucky, not knowing who he was, it made Bucky feel like he was wanted for who he is, wanted for being Bucky, not just Barnes, a guy with a lot of money and a lot of songs, and a big empty house on the water. 

By the time he falls asleep, he’s warm and sated, with Steve in his arms, and feeling no pain.

  
  


The next morning, Bucky is slow to wake, letting himself drift back into dreams a time or two before he finally opens his eyes. When he does, he’s greeted with the sight of Steve, face soft with sleep, looking all kinds of handsome on the pillow opposite his. It’s a view he could get used to, and he quickly shoves that thought away for another day. 

Bucky stretches, his body feeling sore and sated in all the right places. They’d woken up once in the middle of the night, reaching for each other in the moonlight, pressing themselves closer, languid and easy, hot mouths and bare skin, until they were both shuddering in each other’s arms. 

They’d fallen back asleep wrapped up in one another, a soft, protective feeling stealing over Bucky as he drifted back down into dreams. Oh, how he’d like to keep Steve. Keep him safe and content, provide for him, do whatever it takes to make his dreams come true. 

But. 

But that’s never going to happen. Steve is a young man, with his whole life ahead of him. He deserves so much more than what Bucky can offer; he deserves a beautiful life, with someone who can share in it with him, someone who can see the world with fresh eyes, not the jaded way that Bucky looks at everything. 

Bucky’s learned to expect very little from others, and now? Nothing disappoints him. 

He’s just starting to scold himself for his dour thoughts when Steve stirs next to him. 

Steve’s lashes flutter against his cheek before he opens his eyes and looks at Bucky. It takes him only a moment to focus before his face breaks into a soft, gentle smile. 

“Good morning,” he says, voice scratchy. He stretches, breathes out a soft groan, before looking at Bucky again. “God, I feel good.” He grins. “You were amazing.”

Smiling, Bucky says, “Well, I did have a pretty great partner.”

“Only pretty great, huh?” Steve asks, then rolls over to brush a kiss against Bucky’s lips. “Guess I’ve got something to prove.” He begins to kiss his way down Bucky’s neck, soft, and then mouths at the juncture of his neck in a move that makes Bucky squirm. God, if only. 

“Hey,” Bucky says, and gives a gentle push at Steve’s shoulder. 

Steve backs off immediately, a question in his eyes. It makes Bucky sorry to see it, even as he steels himself for what needs to be done. 

“You know we can’t do this, right?” he asks. “Last night was...it was amazing. But we have a contract that specifically says this isn’t allowed, and it’s there for your protection. You know this.”

“Bucky, I--you know I would never invoke that clause, don’t you? Don’t you...I thought you wanted this?” The look on Steve’s face is confused and, God, this is exactly why that clause is in there. 

“It’s not something you invoke. It’s done, and it’s fine. I knew what it meant when I gave the go ahead last night. But it can’t happen again, and we both know that.” 

Steve studies him for a moment. “If this is just because of the contract, we can--you know--end it. I don’t care about the money, Bucky. You--you know that, don’t you?”

Bucky is furious with himself. He should have known that Steve would read into this. He’s so damn earnest, so young.

“Look, If you think I want more of this, you’re right. I do. And if circumstances were different…” He trails off, reaching up to cup Steve’s cheek with his hand. “But you and I both know that we can’t let something like this happen again. Even if we didn’t have a contract, Steve, you are so young, and all of this--stepping into this life? It’s overwhelming. I know, I’ve been there.” Bucky pauses, trying to gather his thoughts, but there’s no need.

“Seriously?” Steve asks. His chin juts out just as he moves away from Bucky, then rolls over and gets out of bed. “I’m not some asshole you just picked up, I’m not some star-fucker,” he says, and starts hopping into his pants, buttoning them up even as he looks around for his shirt. 

Bucky sits up, the sheet pooling around his waist. This is exactly what he was afraid of. “Steve. You know that’s not what I’m saying.”

Steve gets both arms into his shirt and is fumbling with the buttons, but pauses to give Bucky a long, hard look. “I hear exactly what you’re saying,” he says with a glare. “Don’t worry, I won’t be throwing myself at you again anytime soon.”

“Steve--” Bucky calls out, but the only answer he gets is the slamming of the bedroom door. “Fuck.”

Bucky leans back against the headboard and groans. He’s going to have to go square this with Steve. He’s also going to have to tell Maria to start the paperwork on the donation, which means she’ll know exactly what happened. He can’t decide if he’d rather get the ‘So Disappointed in You’ look of silent judgement, or the ‘You’re the Adult, Goddamned Act Like It’ lecture in response,’ but if he knows Maria, he knows at least one of those things is heading his way.

“Fuck it,” he says, and gets up to get in the shower and get this shitshow of a day over with. 

.

By eight o’clock, Bucky is done and done and done. He managed to get both the disappointed glare and the lecture from Maria, and then signed off on the transfer to the escrow account for the twenty-five grand. 

And it was worth it, he thinks. It was worth it because he knows that the VA needs the money, and it was worth it because...because. 

Pouring himself a glass of wine, he doesn’t let himself finish the thought. 

Bucky sits at the piano and lets his fingers drift over the keys, plucking out a few notes before moving on to a melody that’s been swimming in his head all day. It’s melancholic and tender, with a sweetness that makes the whole thing feel like it’s reaching into your chest and squeezing out your heart. 

Bucky loves it. 

After about an hour, Bucky’s fussing with sheet music, trying to decide if the bridge works better with a hard stop or a lingering note, when he notices Steve standing just inside the doorway. 

“Hey,” he says, and beckons. “Come in.”

“I don’t want to interrupt,” Steve says. “Is that new?”

Nodding, Bucky finishes one last notation, then looks up at Steve. “Yeah, but it’s not done yet. You okay?” 

Steve’s wearing a faded CUNY sweatshirt and worn jeans, and looks adorably rumpled and soft. But still, Bucky can see the dark shadows under his eyes, and he knows he’s responsible. 

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Look, I just--I wanted to say I get it, okay? I think I can understand where you’re coming from. I don’t like it, but, I get it, and...and I won’t keep making it hard for you.”

“But…?” Bucky asks, because there is definitely a but in there.

“But I think we should probably start spending less time together, in private. I’ll be out of here in August anyway, and all of this,” Steve gestures around him, “playing house. It doesn’t help.” 

Bucky resolutely does not think about the way his stomach feels like it’s dropping out from under him. Everything Steve is saying makes sense. Everything he’s saying is right. 

“Of course,” Bucky says. “You know, you can drop out. Maria can have a statement ready in the morning, and you can go back to your real life.”

“Is that what you want?” Steve asks, and there is something so fragile on his face. 

“What I want stopped mattering the minute I signed my first deal, Steve. There are parts of my life that aren’t mine to want, and that’s okay. I made that choice a long time ago.”

Steve gives him a long, hard look, and Bucky is sure he knows exactly what Steve sees. Steve finally shakes his head. “I’m not giving notice. I just want a little space.”

“You got it,” Bucky says. He is suddenly so done with this conversation.Without another word, he goes back to the melody he’d been working on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your wonderful comments. They mean the world to me! Another Sunday got away from me. :( I'm going to go ahead and just make Monday the regular update day for this fic. We are coming into the home stretch! That said, this will likely extend to 14 chapters, plus an epilogue because if there's one thing I can't resist it's an epilogue. We'll see. The next chapter is a doozy, but there's just no place to break it up. 
> 
> Over the weekend a number of people were arrested for protesting a Trump rally on the Indigenous lands in the Black Hills. If you would like to support them, you can contribute to the Black Hills Bail and Legal Defense fund.


	11. Baby, You're a Firework!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Deisderium, for your unwavering support of this fic. I'm so thankful, you really have no idea! <3

**Baby, You're a Firework!**

_A steamy birthday getaway was just the ticket for Barnes and his young lover, Steve Rogers. The pair were spotted at a private marina upstate, watching fireworks from the bow of a rented yacht! The pair appeared to have a meal on board, finishing up just in time to sip champagne while watching the fireworks above. No word yet on who will issue the piano man's upcoming album, but the bidding war continues. From the looks of things, Rogers will be sticking around for the foreseeable future. Who knows? Maybe soon we'll be hearing wedding bells!_

The next three weeks are frantic. Bucky spends every day in the studio working on the tracks with the guys, and recording the album. He never found the lyrics for the last track, so it’s in there as an instrumental, because everyone loves it and Bucky was overruled. 

He plays a show in the middle of it, a one night stand that’s just him, the piano, and his sound and light engineers. The guys are thrilled for the time off, and Bucky, well, he’s thrilled to have some time alone with Steve. 

Steve’s made himself scarce outside of public appearances, and god, Bucky feels it. He’s lonely, even with Sofie coming over on Sundays, even with Steve just in the next room. 

He hadn’t realized how much he needed the companionship, and now that it’s gone, Bucky’s at loose ends. They have dinner before the show, and after, Bucky can’t stop himself from reaching out, tangling their fingers together while they go from the venue to the car, and then the car into the hotel. 

“Hey,” Bucky says, when they get up to the room. “I’m still kind of amped up. You want to go for a drive or something? See if we can find some ice cream somewhere?”

Steve opens up his mouth and Bucky’s sure he’s going to say no, but then he closes it and just looks at Bucky for a moment. 

“Sure,” he says, and the smile on his face is real. “Let’s get out of here.”

When the elevator doors open to the lobby, Steve takes Buck’s hand. Bucky pretends that he’s smiling for the camera, and he completely ignores the part of him that knows it’s a lie. 

It’s a problem, and he’ll have to deal with it, but he has Steve until the middle of August. He’ll worry about his heart then. 

.

A few days later, Bucky’s shaving in the bathroom when he hears a knock from Steve’s side of the door. 

“Come in,” he says, noting that, of course, half of his face is still covered in shaving cream. 

“Hey,” Steve says, leaning against the door frame. “I just wanted to check in before next weekend.

“Oh, yeah! Hey, it’s your birthday, right?” Somehow Bucky'd managed to forget that Steve’s gap weekend was coming up. By the time the lawyers got it all worked out, Steve got five days contract-free, with the promise that he’d spend the time fully out of the public eye. 

Bucky resolutely does not think about what Steve might do with his time. 

“Yeah,” Steve says, shrugging.

“Hey, I should get you something. What do you want?” 

Steve scrubs the back of his neck with his hand, and then he does that thing, that Steve thing, where he straightens and squares off. Bucky could be wrong, but he’s pretty sure Steve’s about to quit on him. 

“There is something I want, but I’m not sure if it’s something I can have.”

Bucky feels suddenly pinned by Steve’s gaze, the bright, blue steel of it. 

“You won’t know until you ask,” he finds himself saying. Why does this feel like a high-stakes game of chicken?

“A friend of mine has a cabin on a lake, about three hours from here. It’s really small and quiet. Uhm, private.”

“You want me to come hang out with your friends?” Bucky asks, and while he’s surprised, it’s not so bad. He can drive up for a couple of hours, have a barbecue. Why not?

He’s just about to let out the breath he’s been holding when something in Steve’s face makes him pause. 

“No,” Steve says. “Just me. I want you to come spend the weekend with me. Just, just us.”

“Steve.” Bucky can’t stop the way he reels back from that. “I…” Bucky physically takes a step back, then flinches at himself. This is...it’s too much, what he’s asking.

But Steve is undeterred. He takes two steps forward and reaches out to take Bucky’s hand in his. “You want me, you know you do. Bucky, we--” Steve pauses and drops Bucky’s hand, then takes a step back. His shoulders are still squared off, but he looks calmer, maybe a bit subdued. It fuels that little fire of self-hatred that Bucky keeps there in the corner of his soul.

“The contract is void from July second to the fifth. Anything we do, we do for us, and I want that. I want to see if what’s between us is just forbidden fruit, or if there’s something more.”

It’s--Fuck. It’s a good argument. It’s maybe the only argument that could win, because Bucky finds himself seriously considering it. 

“One weekend?” he says. “One weekend and then you drop it.”

“I didn’t say that. One weekend and I won’t push you about it again. Not while I’m under contract. Maybe not ever. We’ll have to see how it goes.”

Bucky lets out a big sigh. “Steve.”

Steve shrugs, still not backing down. “You asked what I wanted.”

It’s--God, the fire in his eyes, the way he holds his stance. Does he have any idea how beautiful he is? It only drives home to Bucky that he has to be the adult here. 

Pressing his lips together, he thinks. Steve doesn’t move, just waits for Bucky’s answer. 

He’s so torn. On the one hand, he wants this. The idea of a dirty weekend alone with Steve, the two of them getting to know each other for real, away from the cameras, is something that Bucky desperately wants. 

On the other hand...on the other hand. If things go great, where will that leave them when the contract’s done? Bucky will be on tour, doing a lot of press, and Steve...Steve will be in grad school. Bucky likes to think he’s got a pretty good read on Steve’s character, which means even if they try to make something happen, it’s gonna be six or eight months of long distance phone calls before one or the other of them calls it quits. Six or eight months of this thing between them dying an ignoble death, watching as missed calls become avoided calls before one of them finally has the guts to end it.

Still, Steve doesn’t seem the type to let things go without a fight. The best Bucky can do is try to game the odds in Steve’s favor.

“Two conditions,” Bucky says, and all of the tension leaves Steve’s body. “One: It’s one weekend and we leave it there. I don’t want any talk about keeping things going when we get home. One weekend, and then everything goes back to normal.” 

Steve nods. “I can do that.”

“I mean it,” Bucky says. “The weekend’s over, we go back to pretending.”

Steve nods again.

“Two,” Bucky says, and bites his lip before taking a deep breath. “When your contract is over, I want no contact for six months.”

“Buck, come on!” Steve’s shouting and agitated and that’s about what Bucky expected.

Shaking his head, Bucky says, “Non-negotiable. You’re gonna convince yourself something’s there when it isn’t. You’re gonna be in grad school, and you’re gonna have all these new experiences, and I want you to--I want you to really be able to live them, Steve. And you’re not gonna do that chasing me around on tour.”

“Three months,” Steve all but growls.

“Six.”

“Four.”

“I’ll tell you what, Mr. Romance, I’ll give you til Valentine’s Day. Make it all poetic and shit.”

“You asshole,” Steve says, but he’s laughing. “That’s five months.”

“Take it or leave it,” Bucky says, but he’s grinning, too.

“I’ll take it,” Steve says, and puts his hand out to shake. “But we can still text.” 

“Uht-uh,” Bucky says, pulling back. 

“Fine,” Steve says. “Emails.” Then his face softens. “C’mon, Buck.”

Well, Bucky’s never thought of himself as a strong man. 

“Emails. No more than once a week.” 

Steve grins and puts his hand out. “We’ll see how you feel when the weekend’s over.” 

“Steve. Promise me. When the weekend’s done, we’re done, and when the contract’s done, we can email each other once a week, at the most, alright?”

Steve’s still smiling, but Bucky can see the sincerity in his eyes. “If that’s what it’s gonna take. You have my word.”

With that, they shake, and Steve smiles as he heads back to his room. Watching him go, Bucky feels lighter than he has in weeks. 

It’s not until he turns back to the mirror that he catches his reflection, which reveals half a face full of shaving cream.

“Christ, you’re an asshole,” he says to his reflection.

His reflection does not disagree. 

Bucky knocks at the door to the cabin with a vague sense of dread. What the fuck is he even doing here? He feels awkward and unsure, clutching his overnight bag in one hand and feeling for all the world like a fraud.

Then the door opens and Steve is there. Bucky’s heart hammers inside of his chest. 

“Bucky!” Steve says, and the smile on his face is so bright, so clear. God, he’s beautiful. It takes Bucky’s breath away. “Here,” Steve says, reaching for Bucky’s overnight bag. “I kept thinking you wouldn’t come.” 

Bucky hands him the bag and shrugs, his mouth smiling back without his consent. 

“Come in,” Steve says. “I’ll give you the nickel tour.” He looks at Bucky and he’s--god--he’s beaming. 

As Steve talks, Bucky knows he’s probably saying something important, but he can’t quell his own internal freak out long enough to hear it. The cabin seems small, with the usual amenities: Bucky’s sure he saw a dining table, and the kitchen seemed good sized. Was there a big claw foot tub, or is that just his own (hopeful) imagination? 

“Anyway,” Steve says. “This is the, uh, my room.” 

Oh, good. Steve’s feeling awkward now, too. It’s spreading.

“I was just making lunch. Are you hungry?” Steve asks, dropping Bucky’s overnight bag near the door. 

Bucky doesn’t know why it’s so weird. They both know why he came. They both know where he’ll be sleeping. 

“Starved,” Bucky says, even though he’s nothing of the sort. His mouth is dry. God, he wants a drink.

“Well let’s feed you then,” Steve says, and slips past Bucky to head toward the kitchen. 

The cabin is open plan, and Bucky sits at the bar, watching as Steve puts together a couple of sandwiches. When he’s done, he puts away the ingredients and grabs a couple of beers from the fridge, sliding a bottle and a plate over to Bucky. 

They eat in silence, but Bucky notices Steve watching him from the corner of his eye. 

“What, do I have mustard on my face?” he finally asks. 

Smiling, Steve looks away, a light blush coloring his cheeks before shaking his head. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I wasn’t sure I would,” Bucky says. 

“I’m glad you did.” 

They make easy conversation after that, through lunch and washing up. Bucky’s just finished drying the last plate when Steve turns to him.

“I can’t wait anymore,” he says, and takes Bucky’s face in his hands before kissing him long and deep. They’re both panting by the time Steve breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against Bucky’s. 

“Steve,” Bucky gasps, and it’s almost a moan, months of desire bubbling to the surface. “What are we doing?” 

Steve pulls back and gives Bucky a slow, lazy blink. “We’re celebrating,” he says. “It’s my birthday, and I’m off contract. This is just us. This is because we want it.”

It’s the most terrifying thing Bucky’s ever heard. 

Steve leans in for one more kiss, this one a little slower, lazier, like they have real time to explore. 

“Hey,” Steve says, pulling away. “There’s a little sailboat down at the boathouse. Wanna show me the cut of your jib?”

It’s enough to transform the mood into something lighter, and it startles a laugh out of Bucky. “You’re the actual worst,” he says.

Steve just grins at him, that too-bright smile, and Bucky lets it warm him, lets it wash away all of his doubts about this weekend, about what happens next, and he gives himself over to this...this thing that’s been building between them. He gives himself over to Steve. 

“Let’s go,” he says, and the smile that he gives Steve is bright and warm and free. 

The sailboat is tiny. It’s just a daysailer with enough space for a couple of people and a mini cooler, so that’s what they bring. Bucky has a soda and Steve has a beer, and Bucky navigates them around the little lake. Eventually they drop anchor near the far side of the shore under the shade of some trees, and let the water buoy them. 

“This is really nice,” Bucky says, taking a cold beer from Steve.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs. He leans back against one of the benches and closes his eyes, beckoning to Bucky with open arms. “C’mere,” he says, and, well. Bucky’s out of reasons why he can’t. 

He leans into Steve, and the little boat isn’t as tight a squeeze as he thought. The water laps quietly at the side of the boat, and now and again the breeze shifts through the trees, flashing sunlight over their quiet forms. It’s comfortable in a way it shouldn’t be, not with all of the tension between them, but something came loose inside of him at that first kiss, and he wants this. Wants to enjoy it. 

Bucky’s not really dozing, he’s just laying in Steve’s arms, listening to his heart pump and his lungs breathe, and humming a little here and there as the tune comes to him.

“New?” Steve asks.

“Huh?” When Bucky opens his eyes, the day is bright around him. 

“The song, is it new?” 

“S’not yet. A song. It’s a maybe.”

“Hmmm,” Steve hums. “Maybe you should come up here and give me a yes.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky says, but he turns and leans up, finds Steve’s mouth with his. 

“Mmm,” Steve says, and Bucky feels the rumble of it where his fingers are splayed against Steve’s chest. 

They make out for a while, long and slow and lazy, and it feels like the best kind of indulgence. Kissing Steve slow, not giving in to the way his blood wants to heat, but instead staying in the now, letting himself have this. 

After a while the breeze picks up and Bucky gets the boat ready to head back to the dock. It’s a quick run across the water, and Bucky thrills at the cool wind in his hair. It’s not the ocean, but it’s still water. It’s still sailing. 

“I’m so happy you came,” Steve says as they get back to the dock. 

“I’m really glad you invited me,” Bucky says, tying the boat up at the dock. “This is really nice.”

Shrugging, Steve says, “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Thinking about…” He shrugs.

“You didn’t want to...I don’t know, spend the time with your friends?”

“Nah,” Steve says. “Sam’s proposing to Riley this weekend. That’s why the cabin’s free. I just wanted…” Steve stops, then looks Bucky in the eye. “I just want to spend some time with you. I just want this.”

It’s--God. Steve is so earnest and it levels Bucky, makes him feel bigger than any marquee, any spotlight ever could. There’s nothing he can say that won’t lead to him throwing his whole heart out into the open, so he swallows the words and instead leans up for another kiss. By the time they break they’re both heady with the want that they’ve been staving off all day. Staving off for weeks, if Bucky’s being honest.

“Bedroom,” Steve says. “Now.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky asks. “Ordering me around?”

“If I have to,” Steve says. Then he bends and scoops Bucky up, throwing him over his shoulder in a fireman carry. 

“Steve!” Bucky yells, and it startles some birds that scatter at his yell. It doesn’t matter though: He’s being carried surely up the path to the cabin, despite his yelling and squirming, and the way he’s pinching Steve’s ass as they go. 

“You’re gonna pay for this, Rogers” Bucky yells.

“God, I hope so.”

.

“Fuck, that was good,” Bucky pants. 

“Yeah,” Steve says. He’s laid out on the bed, long limbs and thick thighs and even though Bucky came minutes ago he still wants to eat Steve alive. Leaning down, he licks a stripe along Steve’s abs, then lets his mouth wander to one dusky nipple. 

Groaning, Steve holds Bucky’s head there a moment, before hauling him up to kiss him. His fingers slip down to where Bucky is still wet and open, fingertips sliding through the slick and making Bucky shiver. 

“Kinky,” Bucky says.

“Problem?” Steve answers, and slides a finger inside. 

Bucky sighs against the intrusion, wishing he could go again, wishing they could never stop. 

Steve kisses Bucky as he fingers him, mouth lazy like his fingers, slow and easy and messy. 

“Not gonna be able to go again,” Bucky mumbles against Steve’s neck. Fuck he hates this, the way his body’s already started breaking down. Christ. 

“Not always about that,” Steve says, leaning down to press a kiss just under Bucky’s ear. “Does it feel good?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “You always feel good on me.”

“Then tell me if you want me to stop,” Steve says, and goes back to kissing Bucky’s mouth. 

It’s--Bucky feels wanton and sexy in a way he never has before. Touching just for the sake of it, with no destination in mind. It’s hedonistic and he can’t find it in himself to feel guilty about it, not if Steve wants it. Not if  _ they _ want it. 

He throws one leg over Steve’s, opening himself up further, and goes back to kissing his way across Steve’s chest. His nipples are--God, so sensitive. Steve arches under the touch even as he thrusts his fingers a little deeper inside. 

Bucky sets his teeth against Steve’s nipple and grins as Steve hisses, then puffs out a little moan. With a glance down, he can see that Steve’s starting to get hard again. Reaching down, Bucky cups him in his hand.

“You want something?” 

“I’m good,” Steve says, and Bucky gives him a lazy tug. 

Steve retaliates, sliding his fingers in deeper, hitting Bucky’s prostate. “Can’t keep my hands off you,” Steve says, pressing again, drawing a little grunt out of Bucky. “I just want you all the time.”

“I know the feeling,” Bucky says, and they make out until Steve’s starting to breathe hard and Bucky’s starting to get sore. 

“Come on,” Bucky says. “Let’s get you cleaned up so I can blow you.”

Steve laughs. “I’m not gonna say no.”

In the shower, Bucky feels like his senses are in overdrive. The water on his skin, the scent of the soap, the way his fingers glide slick over Steve’s skin: all of it’s driving him wild, like he’s drowning and he doesn’t want to be saved. 

Steve finally comes with his fingers buried in Bucky’s hair, holding tight as he shakes and moans through his release. Bucky’s barely finished swallowing before Steve hauls him up, kissing him deep, and it’s filthy in a way that Bucky loves. 

“So dirty,” Bucky says, grinning against Steve’s mouth. 

“You love it,” Steve says, smiling back. 

Rolling his eyes, Bucky reaches over to turn off the water. “Come on. Let’s go eat.” 

“I just fed you,” Steve cries, full of mock outrage. 

“You wanna turn around? I could still eat.”

Steve growls and pulls Bucky up close, fingers digging into wet skin. “Is that a promise?” Steve asks. 

“If you want it,” Bucky answers. 

Steve goes in for another kiss and Bucky’s stomach rumbles. 

“Ugh, fine,” Steve says, as the two of them break apart, laughing. “Later though,” he says, and Bucky winks. 

They dry off, get dressed, and grill a couple of steaks for dinner, eating on the front porch as the sun dips down behind the trees. 

They share a couple of beers and play a rousing game of Risk, and then Bucky takes Steve to bed and makes good on his promise and then some. 

He falls asleep sprawled on top of Steve, feeling like they’re on even ground for the first time since he’s known him. Here he doesn’t have to be Barnes: father, musician, product, benefactor, employer. Here he can just be Bucky, and Steve wants him anyway. It makes his chest feel big, makes him feel weightless, and he wraps one of Steve’s arms around himself so that he doesn’t float away. 

.

The next day goes on the same way: they wake late, eat a mess of food, then spend the day either lazing on the lake, playing card games and board games, or better, playing bedroom games, and then napping off their bliss. Bucky couldn’t ask for more. 

On Sunday, Bucky wakes long before Steve. He makes coffee and a big pile of french toast with fresh strawberries, with an even bigger pile of bacon on the side. He wakes Steve with his mouth on Steve’s dick, and after Steve’s caught his breath, Bucky tugs him out to the kitchen for breakfast. 

Steve is rumpled - fair hair sticking up in the back and front, a pillow crease across his cheek, and what’s probably a little crust of drool in the corner of his mouth. Bucky feels his whole chest go big and warm-feeling when Steve yawns and scratches the back of his neck.

Bucky’s smitten. 

After breakfast, they change their clothes and pack some snacks. Steve takes them on a hike. It’s an easy trail around the lake and up into the trees, and they stop for lunch at grouping of rocks that’s open to the sun and looks out over the lake. It’s peaceful and idyllic and Bucky lets himself get lost in it, floating on the sensation of being able to just be. After they eat, the pair stretch out on the rocks, fingers linked together, dozing in the sun. 

“You put on sunscreen?” Bucky asks.

“Yes, dad.” 

“Fuck off,” Bucky answers, but he’s smiling, and Steve laughs. 

“Hey,” Bucky says. “Tell me a secret.”

“What kind of secret?” Steve asks. They’re both still laying on their backs, eyes closed against the sun. 

“I don’t know,” Bucky says. “My whole life’s an open book. You can google anything about me. You got the advantage here.”

“Hmm…” Steve says, squeezing Bucky’s hand. “Okay. Let’s even the score a little. You already know about my folks. Uhm...my first job was scooping ice cream in the summer before Junior year.”

“Boring. Next.”

“Hmm...I’m still close to my first girlfriend.”

“Wait, you had a girlfriend?” Bucky asks. “Tell me about her.”

Steve chuckles. “I don’t even know how to describe her. We met in high school. I was...I did not look like I do now, that’s for sure. We were kind of a group of nerds, and one incredibly hot girl. We met in the D&D club in school. I don’t know what she saw in me, but one night after we played, I walked her home. She turned to me and said, “are you ever going to have the courage to kiss me, Steve?”

“Oh, God, I love her. Tell me you laid one on her?”

“You know, I might look dumb? But I’m really not.” 

The two of them laugh and it’s nice. Bucky likes hearing about Steve, about who he is in real life. How he got to be the man he is now. 

“We went out for the rest of high school, but once we got to college, I realized my attraction to men wasn’t going away, and she realized her attraction to women wasn’t either. We promised to stay friends, and it was awkward, but...eventually she met the woman who would become her wife, and all I could feel was happiness for her. She’s an amazing woman, Pegs, but we weren’t meant to be. At least, not as partners.”

“So your first love was a woman, and you’re a D&D nerd. I feel like it’s Christmas.”

“Shaddup,” Steve says, but he’s laughing. 

“Okay, so what about your friends. I kind of expected you’d bring some through by now.” 

“Eh,” Steve says. “My closest friend, Sam, he knows what’s going on. And...before you say anything about the NDA, he’s a therapist, so he knows how to keep a secret.”

“Hey,” Bucky says. “I trust you. But you know that unless he’s your therapist, confidentiality rules don’t apply, right?”

“I mean...a case could be made.”

“Oh, shit. Is he your therapist? Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

Steve doesn’t say anything for a moment, and then he clears his throat. “Alright. I trust you, too. I met Sam when I hired him as a professional cuddler.”

Bucky turns over and leans up on one elbow. “A what now?”

“He was a professional cuddler. Uhm, I would pay him to come over and cuddle me. It’s not as weird as it sounds.”

Turning over onto his back again, Bucky tries to picture what Steve’s saying. “Explain.”

“Well, so at the end of high school was when I really bulked up, but I didn’t really finish until after my first year of college. Then all of a sudden there were guys and girls coming up to me. Uhm, coming on to me. It was weird, but I realized pretty quick how much I don’t like hookups. It was always fun at the time, but left me feeling kind of hung-over the next day, you know?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky says, because yeah. Steve wasn’t lying when he said he thought Bucky likes being married. He’s always been more of a serial monogamist than a player. He always preferred a commitment. 

“So, I was seeing a therapist after my mom died? I was saying how I was lonely, and she eventually recommended touch therapy. It sounded really weird,” he says, giving voice to Bucky’s thoughts. “But, Sam would come over, and we’d watch a movie, and I’d put my head in his lap and he’d touch my hair. It was...it was really nice. I think it really kept me from some big mistakes, just having that.

“Anyway, after a while, we got to know each other. Eventually he gave up cuddling because it was too much on top of his regular job and school. We ended up dating for a couple of months, but we really weren’t a match. So, we stayed friends instead.”

“But wasn’t it weird, having a stranger touching you?”

Steve turns his head and raises an eyebrow at Bucky. “Not any weirder than fucking someone you just met a couple of hours ago.”

Bucky laughs. “Okay, touche. Jeez.” He notices that they’re still holding hands, and he thinks Steve might be right about all that touch therapy. It feels good, being close to someone. Humans aren’t meant to go it alone, he thinks. 

“You know,” Steve says. “If this doesn’t work out, it might be something you want to consider.”

“What, a cuddler?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “You...might be a little touch starved, is all.”

“Me? I’m okay,” Bucky says, a little bit offended though he has no idea why.

Steve laughs. “Okay, sleep-topus.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bucky asks, sitting up.

Looking at him, Steve then sits up, reaching for his phone. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“Here,” Steve says, handing his phone over. 

It takes Bucky’s eyes a minute to adjust from the brightness of the day, but then he sees it. There are a half dozen pictures of him and Steve. Or rather, of him asleep, sprawled all over Steve, literally blanketing himself over the bigger man. In all of them, Steve is smiling, and in a couple, giving a thumbs up. 

“What the hell?”

“You do it every time we share a bed,” Steve says. “It’s adorable.”

Bucky’s glad for the hot day so that Steve can’t see him blush. “Glad you’re getting a kick out of it,” he mumbles.

“Hey,” Steve says, taking Bucky’s chin in his hand and forcing him to look up. “I like it. A lot.”

“Sap,” Bucky says, but he hands the phone back and lays back down.

“You could use a little sap in your life,” Steve says. “You like sap.”

“I do,” Bucky says, his voice low, and his fingers squeezing Steves. 

He’s shirtless, eyes closed against the sun, letting the heat really sink into his skin, just enjoying the day, and this new closeness with Steve, when he realizes that this is the longest he’s gone in probably years without someone wanting something from him, wanting him to be Barnes.

He knew he was falling for Steve before this weekend, and now that they’re here, he knows he’s utterly gone. Steve is funny and sweet and kind, but what really cinches it for Bucky is this: Steve took his own birthday and turned it over into a gift for Bucky, and what’s more, made it a gift Bucky didn’t even know he wanted. Needed.

God, he’s in so much trouble. 

After a while Steve rolls to his side, looking down at Bucky. Bucky squints one eye open in time to see Steve move in for a soft kiss. 

“My mouth got lonely,” Steve says, mumbling against Bucky’s lips.

“Can’t have that,” Bucky says, and then cups the back of Steve’s neck, pulling him down for another kiss. 

They make out like that for what feels like hours: mouths moving slow and lazy, the press of their bare chests together, the heat of the sun contrasting with the cool of the rocks. 

“I can’t remember the last time I did this,” Steve says. “Kissing just to kiss.”

Bucky thinks back and figures it must have been sometime around high school. It feels indulgent and heady, like everything else this weekend has. He chases it, and when thoughts about the end of the weekend try to intrude, he brushes them away. He’ll deal with the fallout, his broken heart, all of it. But not today. 

He’ll deal with tomorrow, tomorrow. Today, he has this. 

.

By the time they make it back to the cabin, they’re running a little bit short on time. 

“Hustle up,” Bucky says, pushing Steve toward the shower. “We gotta get a move on.”

“For?”

“”None of your business.”

“What?” Steve asks, laughing. “Bucky, what...what’s going on?”

“You know, you’re asking an awful lot of questions here, birthday boy.”

“What did you do?” Steve asks, his face lit with a soft, fond smile that makes Bucky’s heart keen. 

“Go on,” Buckys says, his voice equally soft, equally fond. 

While Steve showers, Bucky pulls out some clothes for him, and makes a call to ensure everything is on schedule. 

When Steve gets out of the shower, Bucky passes him in the hall, and Steve pauses for a kiss and another one of those fond smiles. 

“I set some clothes out,” Bucky says. “You don’t gotta--”

“I will,” Steve replies, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s neck, before turning toward the bedroom. 

Bucky takes a quick shower, and then the two of them are off, driving to the lake’s marina in Bucky’s non-descript rental car. The cabin is set at the far end of the lake, in a private, secluded area. Despite the holiday weekend, Bucky’s felt like they’re in the middle of nowhere. It’s been quiet and peaceful enough that Bucky’s somehow forgotten just how close they are to town.

As they park, Steve leans over the center console and cups Bucky’s cheek in his hand. “I have no idea what we’re doing, but thank you, Buck. It’s been a while since I’ve actually celebrated my birthday. Thank you for making it special.”

Bucky smiles and leans over for a kiss because what is he supposed to say to that? If he says a word, Steve will hear the tightness in his voice; it’ll give him away. 

“C’mon,” he finally says, breaking the kiss and trusting that he’s got himself sufficiently under control. “I want to get a good spot.”

The sun is just starting to set as Bucky joins Steve at the rail of the sailboat he rented, watching as it starts to dip toward the treeline. 

“This is amazing,” Steve says. “Thank you.”

Shrugging, Bucky smiles. It was all Maria’s doing, or her assistants. They’re the ones who arranged for the rental, set up the meal inside the cabin, and had it all waiting, pretty and neat, for Steve and Bucky to show up.

There’s an ice cream cake in the freezer for later, but for now, Bucky toasts Steve with a glass of champagne. 

“Happy birthday,” he says, and Steve smiles at him, sunshine bright and almost painful with how earnest it is. 

“Welp, it’s official,” Steve says, turning to look out over the sunset. “You’ve ruined me, Buck.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky asks, because they haven’t done more than kiss all day and Bucky would love to ruin Steve at this particular moment. 

“Yeah,” Steve says, and turns to look at him, before looking away again. “How’m I supposed to go to some dumb 4th of July block party after this? Some backyard barbecue? Nope, it’s gotta be private boats with catered meals from here on out. Nothing less will do.”

“Is that so?” Bucky says, and leans up against Steve until Steve looks at him again.

“Guess you’ll have to keep me,” Steve says, and then kisses Bucky fierce, holding him close until they’re both breathless, like if he kisses him hard enough and long enough, Bucky won’t be able to answer. Steve won’t have to hear it. 

As they break, the first of the fireworks goes off overhead, and they both look up, watching as the sky is painted in red, white, and blue. It’s beautiful, and Bucky smiles up at the night sky, smiling because it’s been a perfect weekend, because in this very moment he is teeming with happiness, with gratitude at being able to give this to Steve, and gratitude for Steve and everything he’s given to Bucky. He’s high on how sweet, how easy it’s all been, and absolutely drunk on Steve’s smile, and how he’s grinning up at the fireworks, just like Bucky is. 

At one point they look at each other, both grinning like maniacs, until Bucky leans up and Steve leans down and they kiss and kiss and kiss under a rain of falling stars. 

It’s perfect.

By the time they get back to the cabin they can’t keep their hands off of each other. There’s a lot of  _ yes, _ and _ please, _ and one long, soft,  _ baby, _ and then Bucky makes Steve cry out his name for the second time in an hour. 

When they’re done, they lay panting against one another, slick-skinned and bone-tired. Bucky’s draped over Steve’s chest, listening to the wild beat of his heart, and when Bucky looks down, he finds their fingers intertwined, holding tight to one another, even as they come down from their respective highs. He knows that what he feels isn’t just the fresh flush of orgasm, but he also knows that that’s a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, he has this. 

Bucky wouldn’t trade a second of it, not for ten years of sold outs at the Garden. 

In the morning, they wake slow and lazy. Steve has his arm around Bucky’s waist and Bucky’s tucked into his side. He can feel the soft puffs of Steve’s breath at the back of his neck and he smiles, even as he presses back, putting himself further into Steve’s embrace. 

Steve gives him a sleepy squeeze before pulling him even closer, then pressing a kiss to the back of Bucky’s neck. 

“If we stay in bed,” Steve whispers, “maybe it won’t be morning.”

Bucky smiles. “I don’t think it works like that.”

“Well that’s dumb,” Steve says, and presses another kiss to the back of Bucky’s neck. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I know,” Bucky says. “But I’ve got rehearsal with the guys tomorrow, and you’ve got a portfolio to work on, and then we have a show on Friday.”

“Why don’t I come join you at rehearsal?” Steve asks. “We can drive back together, and I’ll bring my sketch pad. I can work on my portfolio there.”

It’s a conversation Bucky’s been dreading, because it’s played out in his head so many times. In his fantasies, he says yes. They drive back to the city holding hands, maybe singing along to the radio or talking, talking, talking about everything. God, Bucky wants to know everything there is to know about Steve. 

In reality, though, he knows he needs to say no. Someone has to be the grown-up, here.

Turning over in bed, he faces Steve, who’s looking down at him with big, hopeful eyes and Bucky must have picked up superpowers somewhere because he still finds the strength to say no.

“We talked about this,” he says, keeping his tone gentle. 

“Did we?” Steve asks. “Are you really saying that nothing’s changed? Come on, Buck.”

“You promised,” Bucky says. “You promised we would leave it here. You know that’s the only reason I came.”

Steve flinches at the word promise, but Bucky holds his ground, even as he watches Steve fight himself, even as he sees the moment Steve gives up. It breaks his heart, but he knows it’s for the best in the long run.

“Okay,” Steve says, taking a deep breath. He buries his face in Bucky’s neck. “Okay.”

They lay together for a few moments, Bucky giving Steve time to collect himself, before Steve pulls away with a kiss. 

“What time do you need to get out of here?” he asks.

“Eh,” Bucky replies. “I’m having dinner with Sof tonight, so I figure maybe early afternoon? Even with traffic it should only take a few hours.”

“I can work with that,” Steve says, then leans down to kiss Bucky. “Anything you wanted to do today?” he asks, leaning down to press a sucking kiss against Bucky’s collarbone.

“Steve,” Bucky says, already going breathless. “Sweetheart.”

“You were so good to me yesterday, Buck. Let me be good to you.”

“I….” Any protest he might have dies on his lips as Steve makes his way down Bucky’s body, licking and kissing, scraping his teeth against Bucky’s heating skin. 

“You sore, baby?” Steve asks, nuzzling around Bucky’s hardening cock before sliding a finger down to rub at his perineum.

“Ohhhh,” Bucky groans, because fuck it all, he is. 

“Mmm,” Steve replies, licking up Bucky’s cock again. “Maybe you should fuck me, instead,” Steve says. “Or maybe I should just blow you, hmmm? What do you want?”

“Fuck,” Bucky replies, losing himself in the _ hot wet yes  _ of Steve’s mouth. “Mouth,” he groans. “Give me your mouth.”

Steve answers with a hum and sets to taking Bucky to pieces slowly, slowly, slowly. By the time he’s breathing hard and begging, he looks down to see Steve stroking himself as sucks Bucky off, and the sight of it is enough to send him spinning over the edge. Bucky comes hard, riding the waves for what feels like forever, only opening his eyes in time to watch Steve come all over his thighs. There’s something filthy about it, being painted in Steve’s come, that makes Bucky want to stay that way, even if it’s only for a few minutes.

He pulls Steve down onto him, kissing him deep and slow, tongue-fucking him even as they get the mess between them all over. Through it all, there’s a thread of desperation, a frantic need to catch as much of this as he can, savor as much of this as he can. He knows it’s the last time. 

“Good morning,” Bucky says, breaking the kiss long to speak. 

“Hi,” Steve sighs, and presses his face into the crook of Bucky’s neck again. “We’re getting gross,” he says, and then shifts his thigh against Bucky’s. 

“Alright,” Bucky says. “Let’s shower.” He’s going for playful, but instead the words feel heavy and weighted. 

The mood carries into the shower, and then into the kitchen where Bucky puts together a quick breakfast of egg sandwiches. They eat quietly, clean up quietly, and even though they’ve lost the playful mood, they still work seamlessly together, with Bucky cooking and Steve cleaning up behind him. 

When Bucky sets the whisk and empty bowl down, Steve comes along and picks it up, rinsing it and putting it in the dishwasher to run later. He sponges up the bit of egg that spilled and it hits Bucky all at once just how intimate this weekend has become. It hits him how bad it’s going to hurt to walk away. And Steve’s in too deep. As nice as the fantasy is, Bucky would only hold him back.

He picks up the dish towel to dry a bowl, turning away before Steve can catch him having a feeling about this...whatever this is that they’ve done. 

“Do you want to take the boat out?” Steve asks, putting the last of the eggs away. 

Bucky considers it. They do have a few more hours before Bucky has to leave. He knows Steve is going to drive back tomorrow, and he hopes that by then he’ll have enough of a hold on himself to help get them both back into a routine. 

Shrugging and swallowing, Bucky says, “We could. Do you want some help getting the place cleaned up? I don’t want to stiff you with all the work.”

“This place is the size of a postage stamp, Buck. I’ll be fine.”

“I…” Bucky doesn’t know what to say. The air between them feels stilted and thick, filled with all the things they can’t say to each other, all the feelings Bucky won’t let live. 

Steve reaches across the table and takes Bucky’s hand in his. “Bucky,” he says, his voice soft and reproachful. “Please.”

“You wanna take the boat out?”

Steve presses his lips together, then walks around to Bucky’s side of the table and pulls him up. 

“No,” Steve says. “I don’t.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, but he’s lost, because his heart weighs a thousand pounds and he feels like he’s going to cry which is absurd. 

“Come back to bed with me,” Steve says. “Let’s hide out until you have to leave.”

Biting his lip, Bucky searches for a reason to say no, and can’t find one. “Yeah,” he says. “Let’s do that.”

When they get to the bedroom, Steve climbs onto the bed without getting undressed, so Bucky does the same. He slides into Steve’s embrace for a little while, they just lay there, Bucky listening to the beat of Steve’s heart, the pull of his lungs. It’s like a tide, he thinks, like a rhythm, a beat, and his mind autopilots, trying to make music with it. 

“Hey,” he finally says. “Let’s take one of those pictures with me awake for a change.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks.”

“Yeah, you can send it to me.” 

“Alright.” Steve pulls out his phone and the two of them smile as Steve takes the picture. 

A moment later, Bucky’s phone buzzes and he opens it to see the two of them, laying together, cuddling. It brings the softest smile to his face. 

“You look good on me,” Steve says, and there’s nothing Bucky can say to that, so he turns over and gives Steve a long, hot kiss. 

Steve kisses him back, and it isn’t long before they’re pushing their clothes off, trying to get at each other one last time. 

“Fuck me,” Steve says. “I want you inside me. Want to feel it.”

“Yeah,” Bucky groans. “Want you.” 

Their movements take on a frenzied, desperate pace, each of them pushing and pulling, teeth biting, and it’s overwhelming because Bucky needs...he needs...he needs this weekend to never end. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” Bucky says, sliding his hand down between Steve’s legs, rubbing at his entrance. “Let me have you.” 

“Yes,” Steve says, shifting his legs further apart. “All of me.” 

They go on like that, frantic with the need to be close, to stay close, and even when Bucky’s inside of Steve, he still feels like it’s not close enough. Steve seems to feel it too, wrapping his legs around Bucky’s waist, arching his back to let Bucky in deeper and fingers clinging to Bucky, pulling him close. 

“Wait,” Steve pants, and Bucky stops. “Too close,” he breathes. “I don’t want…”

Bucky leans his head down, presses his mouth against Steve’s pulse, feels it fluttering against his lips. “Me, too,” he says, and it’s the closest he can come to saying what he feels. 

He leans down for a kiss and everything slows down after that, the two of them moving with each other slow and easy, languid in the rising heat of the late morning. At one point they turn over, Steve riding Bucky, head tossed back, fingers laced with Bucky’s, and all Bucky wants in the world is to stay just like this, letting Steve take his pleasure, watching as he brings himself closer and closer to climax. 

“Christ, you’re beautiful,” he says, and Steve looks at him. 

“You, too, you know.”

Bucky looks away, thrusting up, trying to derail the topic. 

“Hey,” Steve says, and leans down over Bucky, pressing a kiss against his lips. “Don’t you know how gorgeous you are?” 

He begins to move again, working his body overy Bucky’s, kissing him long and deep until they’re doing little more than panting into one another’s mouths. 

“So close,” Steve groans. 

“Me, too,” Bucky says, then reaches for Steve, stroking him until he comes, splashing hot against Bucky’s trembling stomach. 

A few more thrusts is all it takes and then Bucky’s coming too, holding onto Steve as tightly as Steve’s holding onto him. 

They cool down in the shower, the two of them touching, touching, neither willing to let go. 

Finally, Bucky’s standing on the front porch, duffel bag in his hand. Steve’s leaning up against the door frame, holding Bucky by his belt loops. 

“I don’t want to let you go,” Steve says. 

“I know,” Bucky says. “But we gotta.”

“I know. Hey do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Call your doctor about that hand? I noticed you favoring it on Friday.”

“We’ll see,” Bucky says, but he’s grinning. “Hey, “You gonna be okay, you know, when things go back to normal?”

Steve grins. “I think I can hold down my libido for a few more weeks.” 

“We have a show in Florida next weekend. You want to come?”

Steve smiles. “Kind of my job, Buck.”

Bucky shrugs, then leans forward and presses his head against Steve’s chest. 

“Five weeks,” Steve says, bringing his hand up to stroke the back of Bucky’s neck. “Five weeks and we can see where we’re at.”

Bucky smiles, and leans up to give Steve one last kiss goodbye. 

Five weeks, he thinks, driving home with a smile on his face. 

Looking back on this moment, he’s appalled at how simple he thought it all could be. 

.


	12. Independence Day No More?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Title change! I mentioned this on Twitter, but Matter of Trust was never intended to be the title of this fic. However, when it was time to start posting, I didn't have anything else, so it's what I went with. Then, of course, an epiphany hit, so here we are. :/ Apologies for any confusion, and many thanks for sticking with me! 
> 
> Extra thanks to Deisderium who gave this a lightening fast beta read, and who has been a tireless cheerleader. (She also cued me in that it IS possible to change the title of a fic, and tbh, this title feels ever so much better. Thank you, friend!

**_Independence Day No More?_ **

_ A savvy citizen snapped this pic of Barnes and his new love, Steve Rogers. The two spent the 4th of July yachting on a lake upstate. Rogers, whose birthday happens to be the 4th, got quite a celebration. The two were said to have a cozy dinner on deck before sipping champagne and watching the fireworks fly.  _

_ But is Barnes ready to give up his independence? The songster just signed a mega deal with SHIELD records. From the looks of things, another, more blissful commitment may not be far behind! _

Bucky’s phone starts blowing up before he even gets back to town. He’d put it on Do Not Disturb while he was with Steve, knowing that Nat, Sophie, and Maria were exceptions and could get through. He takes it off when he stops for gas on the way home, and immediately he’s hit with a flurry of beeps and buzzes. 

“What the hell?”

As he thumbs through the notifications, a text from Maria comes through. 

**Mz. Hill:** Do we need to talk about this?

Bucky looks at the attachment, then blows it up. It’s a picture from TMZ, of him and Steve on the boat watching fireworks. Well, not exactly. Whoever grabbed the shot caught the two of them looking at each other like they’re the greatest thing since ice cream. Bucky almost doesn’t recognize himself, and when he catches the look on his face, his stomach drops out from under him.

The last picture he has of himself looking like that was a photo from his wedding day with Nat. 

He is obviously, grossly, undeniably in love. 

And worse, Steve is looking at him the same way. The sky above them is a riot of light, red and blue and gold, and they’re looking at each other like there’s nothing else in the world, just them under a blanket of falling stars. 

It hits Bucky hard and it takes him the space of one breath to realize that maybe...maybe Steve’s right. Maybe they can have this. Maybe the weekend doesn’t have to end now. 

It’s...God, Bucky’s smiling just thinking about it. 

He opens up more of the messages and follows the link to the article. There’s not much, just the usual speculative bullshit. He’s about to close the site when Nat’s name catches his eye. 

SanFranFan82: Aw, they’re cute together. I love this! 

**GhostinyourMachine:** Ooooh poor Natasha. He is finally *over* her! 

**CreeperPatrol:** Guess that’s what he loves about those college kids. He gets older, they stay the same age.

**MeTooWho:** @CreeperPatrol - OMG right? So gross. Obviously Steve is an “adult” so it’s not illegal but *redflagredflagredflag* 

**CreeperPatrol:** @MeTwoWho Right? What’s the matter, Barnes? Can’t stomach being with someone your own age? Maybe because an adult has a fully developed bullshit meter and won’t fall for his “I’m a rockstar” bullshit.

**MeTwoWho:** I know my mom digs him but wow! What a disappointment of a human being. His kid must be so embarrassed. 

**CreeperPatrol:** @MeTwoWho Oh god, right? Like once, maybe, but Barnes has a history of dating women (and now men) that are just way too young for him. It’s gross. 

Bucky swallows and closes the article. 

He knows he shouldn’t pay any attention to it. He knows he should dismiss what they said. 

And he does. He pays the cashier for a bottle of Coke and a bag of chips, and he gets back into the car and gets back on the highway and heads home.

But with every mile that he puts between him and Steve, his thinking becomes more and more clear. 

It’s true, what they say. He can’t deny it.

He’s that guy. When he looks into his future, he can see it so clearly. Bucky’s fifty, then sixty, then eighty, and the person his arm? Well, she (and sometimes he), they stay 25. And he can already see how it will all play out. 

He figures he and Steve will give it a real shot. He knows he has feelings for Steve, real feelings, he won’t deny that. But one day, maybe in a year, maybe in two, Steve’s going to be secure and financially stable, and he’s going to realize that he’s trading his youth in on an old man who can’t find someone age appropriate because no one his age would be willing to put up with his bullshit. His drinking and playing piano at three in the morning. The performance highs and then the lows when the words, the music, won’t come. 

Who else but some kid would be willing to follow him around on tour? And a family? Forget about it. Bucky’s got a kid who’s almost grown. What? He’s gonna be one of those old fucks bouncing a baby on his sixty-year old knee? Maybe his kids and Sofie’s can go to the same kindergarten. 

No. 

If he cares for Steve, he’s not going to put him through those next two years before Steve finally wises up. 

He’s not going to put himself through it. 

By the time he gets home, he’s resolved. There’s only five weeks left on Steve’s contract. When the time comes, Bucky knows he’ll need to let Steve down easy. 

He knows he’ll do what’s right. 

.

Bucky spends the next day at the studio, and when he gets home, he finds that Steve’s returned from the cabin. Bucky finds a pair of Steve’s shoes at the front door, and as he makes his way into the house, see’s Steve’s duffel bag at the foot of the stairs. 

It’s nice, he thinks, the way the place looks lived in. He missed that, when he lived alone. 

With a sigh, he tracks Steve down in the living room. He’s curled up in one of the big, overstuffed chairs, sketching. 

“Hey,” Bucky says, stomach in knots. “Drive back okay?”

Steve lights up and he gives Bucky the warmest smile. “Yeah, it wasn’t too bad.” 

“Good. Well…”

“I haven’t eaten,” Steve says. “Have you?”

“I...haven’t,” Bucky answers, and finds himself smiling. 

It’s okay, he thinks to himself. They can do this. It’s just dinner. 

“Great,” Steve answers, and gets up to grab menus from the drawer in the kitchen. “Anything special you want?” Steve asks. “I’m really craving kabobs, but I can be coerced.”

“Kabobs is fine,” Bucky says. “Don’t forget the--”

“Zhoug, I know,” Steve replies, and he calls the order in. 

Dinner is a little bit stilted, but that’s to be expected. You can’t spend three days wrapped up in someone the way they did and have it not be awkward. But they carry on, the pair of them laughing when they both go for the pita at the same time. 

“I didn't think it would be so weird,” Steve says, smiling at his plate, face flushed.

Bucky shrugs. “I figured,” he says, but he smiles when Steve looks up. 

“Did you...was it a good weekend?” Steve asks. 

“Steve,” Bucky says, hating how soft his voice is. “It was a great weekend.” 

Steve’s answering smile is brilliant. “I’m glad.” 

They eat in silence for a few moments, Bucky noticing how it’s going from awkward to stilted. He should say something, he figures, and is working up to it when Steve speaks. 

“Look, I know we have an agreement, and I’m--” Steve holds his hand up as he sees Bucky open his mouth to speak. “I”m not trying to go back on that. But we have five weeks left, and I start school the Monday after the contract ends. I just--I want to enjoy this time we have together. I want…”

“I know,” Bucky says. “I think you’ve been clear about what you want. I just…” And oh, shit. Is he going to lose Steve already? He knows he should have prepared for this, should have known Steve would bring it up. But in the time that they were apart, Bucky never once contemplated this conversation. It’s too soon, so he scrambles. “My divorce from Janie isn’t even final, Steve. And with the album coming out, I...I’m not saying I don’t want you. I’m just saying right now might not be the right time for me.”

“Seriously? Bucky, come on.”

“I--I know. I guess I’m just saying let’s see where things stand in February. I got tour dates through New Year’s, and you’ve got classes starting in August, plus I’ll probably be on tour all of next summer. We’ll hardly have time for each other. I don’t want you waiting on a maybe.”

“Bold of you to assume I would wait.” 

Well, fuck. Of all the things Bucky expected, he sure as fuck didn’t expect that. 

“I…” 

Steve cracks a smile. “Your face,” he says, grinning. “Relax, Buck. I’m not trying to marry you right now, and I’m not looking around. I don’t usually have the headspace to juggle multiple relationships, so if that’s where we’re at, I won’t mind waiting. But if it’s not, Buck, it’s not like I’m gonna cry in my coffee if this thing doesn’t pan out. I think we can be really good together. Great, even. I’m just asking you to...give us a shot.”

Bucky feels like he wants to cry, because Steve couldn’t be more perfect if he tried. Of course he’s not going to pressure Bucky into something he’s uncomfortable with. He would never. And of course he’s not going to commit to someone who won’t commit to him. Steve’s got too much self respect for that. 

Which leaves Bucky exactly where he started: thinking about how to put the brakes on this thing without breaking anyone’s heart in the process. 

“Alright,” Bucky says. “We’ll see where we’re at in August.”

“Alright,” Steve says, but he’s smiling that coy little smile again. It reminds Bucky that he’s in a world of trouble, and as long as Steve’s smiling at him like that, he can’t honestly bring himself to care. 

That weekend they fly into Myrtle Beach for a show. The band still wants to hold off on doing new music, but Bucky did talk them into “Love to Watch You Go,” mostly because he’s sure it’ll be a hit, and also because, well, he’s an artist. He’s insecure and he wants to know that he’s still got it.

The show goes great, the audience on their feet and rocking for the new song, and Bucky feels like he’s the actual king of the world. Steve greets him backstage, just like always, and just like always, he’s got a hug and a plate of food ready for Bucky. 

The guys love the new song, and given the audience reaction, Bucky lets himself hope for a gold record out of it. 

It’s silly, he knows. He’s got a closet full of Grammy awards, but he still craves the audience’s approval. It’s a high like nothing else, and he feels it rushing through his veins even as the audience pours out of the venue, even as the lights dim, even as Steve drags him out to the car so that they can go back to the hotel. 

Bucky has a couple of glasses of champagne backstage, and another in the car, and then two more when they get to the hotel room. There was a time when he could drink champagne like water, but now, he’s, well. He is definitely feeling no pain. 

Leaning into Steve as they sit on the couch, Bucky lets himself go for a moment. He lets himself feel this, this thing he has with Steve. It unfurls inside of him, a new leaf, reaching for the light. 

“Hey,” he says, and Steve looks at him.

“Hey yourself,” Steve replies, but there’s an amused grin on his face. 

“Did you like the new song?

Steve barks a laugh. “I did,” he says, chuckling. “But I can’t believe you wrote a song about my ass.”

Bucky shrugs. “It’s a great ass,” he says, with no apology. “Give it six months. Pretty soon that’s gonna be America’s ass.”

“Not sure that it’s song worthy,” Steve says, but he still has that soft grin on his face. 

“It’s not too weird for you?” Bucky asks. “Hearing a song about yourself? I should have played it for you sooner.” 

“It’s...it’s fine. I wondered if I’d show up in any of your songs.”

“You’re in a lot of them,” Bucky says, sobering a little, which won’t do at all. He stands up and gets himself another glass of champagne. No one’s going to rain on his parade, least of all him. 

“I’m flattered,” Steve says. 

“Not mad?”

“Should I be? I haven’t heard the others.”

“I didn’t write anything bad.” Bucky says. “Here.” He thumbs open his phone, finding the demo, and then hitting play. 

“You don’t have to,” Steve says, but he’s smiling. He walks over to the mini-fridge and cracks open a beer. 

“Not like it’s a state secret,” Bucky says, arching an eyebrow. He sits back down on the couch next to Steve, relaxing into the feel of Steve, solid and warm by his side. 

They listen for a little while, Bucky clocking all the things in the music that he’s smoothed out in the studio, eyes closed and drifting until the music’s just washing over him. At one point he leans his head on Steve’s shoulder, and Steve tips his head onto Bucky’s, and the two of them sit quietly. It’s wonderful. 

Bucky’s almost glad he did it this way. He’s a little too drunk to worry too much about how Steve is going to react. He knows he didn’t leave his heart bare on the record, not like he maybe has in the past, but there’s enough there that Steve will recognize himself. 

Thinking about the weekend, Bucky wonders what it could be like, having Steve like that every day. What it could be like coming off stage to Steve waiting in the wings after every show. It’s enough to put him in some kind of mood, so he cuts off that train of thought. He’s got this, right now. He’s going to stay in the moment. 

When they get to the last track, the instrumental, Bucky’s so deep inside of his own head, his own wants, that he doesn’t even pause. He just stands, takes Steve’s hand and tugs him up. 

“We never got to dance,” he says, and if he hears a little bit of goodbye in his voice, well, that’s just him being maudlin, isn’t it?

Steve comes into his embrace, the two of them sway with the music, soft and easy. Steve is warm and solid, his arms around Bucky’s waist, and Bucky leaning his head against Steve’s shoulder. 

“This one’s my favorite,” Steve says, and Bucky just sighs an agreement, because of course it’s Steve’s favorite. He might as well have titled it  _ Steve _ , for all the ways that the music encompasses Bucky’s feelings for the man: hope, yearning, and something very much like love.

The music ends and the two of them still, neither making a move to break the embrace until Steve turns his head and presses a kiss to Bucky’s temple. 

“Thank you,” Steve says, and Bucky clears his throat as he pulls away.

“Hey, I’m gonna hit the shower before bed. It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask Steve to join him, and that thought alone is enough to make him realize just how much he’s had to drink. 

“Sure,” Steve says. “You should probably take a couple of Advil while you’re at it, or you're going to have a bitch of a hangover in the morning. 

“Good call,” Bucky says, digging his sleep pants out of his suitcase. “Thanks, kid.”

“When he gets into the shower, he washes up quickly, but then stays under the spray until his fingers prune. God, he’s got to pull it together. 

By the time he’s brushed his teeth and is ready for bed, Steve’s already got his light out, curled up on one side, and his eyes closed. Maybe he’s sleeping, and maybe he doesn’t want to make things more awkward than they have to be. Either way, Bucky’s fine with it. He climbs into bed, turns out his light, and is asleep within seconds. 

The next day is a repeat of the first: They hit the venue, do a sound check, and Bucky picks at his food because he hates performing on a full stomach. Then the opening bands go on, and the butterflies in his stomach become a hurricane, and then he’s on stage, and then he’s surfing the high of performing, the band hitting every note, the crowd screaming and clapping and singing along like he’s written the soundtrack to their lives. 

It’s one of the best feelings he knows, being in perfect synch with twenty-thousand people, and his smile aches right up to his cheeks by the time he plays the final song. 

Then it’s off the stage and into Steve’s arms, only tonight he doesn’t let himself get loaded on champagne. Tonight he limits himself to a single beer and half a pint of ice cream when they get back to the room. 

He knows he’s being a little quiet, a little removed from Steve, but hell, after last night, he’s gotta do some kind of damage control. 

“Everything okay?” Steve asks, giving Bucky a curious look. 

“Yeah, kid, everything’s great. Just kind of tired today. Too much to drink last night.”

Steve gives him a long, hard look and Bucky mentally high fives himself for not flinching. 

“Sure,” Steve says. 

A few minutes later, they’re both getting ready for bed, and Bucky, fuck, he  _ misses _ Steve. He misses the way they were at the cabin, the two of them crowding around the sink, pushing for position, grinning around their toothbrushes. 

He knows he could have it if he wants it. He could have it, but he could also get his heart shattered again, shattered the way Nat shattered it, and he-- He’s not sure he’s up for that again. Maybe you do just get that one great love. Maybe that’s all anyone has a right to. 

“G’night,” Bucky says, turning onto his side to face away from Steve. 

“Night, Buck,” Steve says. 

It takes Bucky forever to fall asleep that night. By morning, he’ll wish he’d never tried. 

.

Bucky wakes in the middle of the night, unsure for a moment where he is. Then he realizes he’s laying across Steve’s chest, one leg thrown over him, clinging like a koala. God, has he been doing this all night? Sleep cuddling Steve? Usually he’s alone by the time the alarm goes off, what with Steve hitting the hotel gym for his daily workouts.

Still. It feels so good, being here. Safe. 

Taking a deep breath, Bucky looks up, only to find Steve looking back at him. He should say something, he thinks, but nothing comes to mind other than the usual nonsense of  _ please  _ and  _ yes  _ and  _ stay _ . He should move, but he feels pinned by Steve’s eyes on his. 

Time stretches between them, both of them just looking at the other, and then...and then they’re not. And then Steve is kissing him, or he’s kissing Steve, he’s not really sure and it really doesn’t matter because this--this--this is what he’s been aching for since he left the cabin. 

As the kiss builds, Steve turns, pushing Bucky onto his back and slots a leg between his thighs. Bucky’s body responds in kind, fingers sliding over smooth skin, tangling in that fair hair, holding Steve close, close. 

“Bucky,” Steve says, moving to press a kiss against Bucky’s pulse. “God, I’ve missed this, missed you. It’s been driving me crazy.” Steve gets his knee up under Bucky’s leg, spreading him open and laying between his legs. “Feels like I have to have you all the time,” he says, and that’s the thing that brings Bucky to his senses. 

“Steve,” he says, and pushes at Steve’s chest, pushing him away. “Steve, stop.”

Pausing, Steve pulls away from Bucky, before blinking and sitting back on his heels. “Buck,” he says. 

“My fault,” Bucky says, sitting up against the headboard. “I was practically molesting you in your sleep.”

“Don’t do this,” Steve says, and he looks so goddamned disappointed in Bucky.

Bucky shrugs. “M’not doing anything.” Turning, he takes one of the pillows from behind him and lays it on the bed, dividing his side from Steve’s.

“You’re really doing this?” Steve asks. “Bucky, come on. I’ll quit, right now. I don’t--you know I don’t care about the money. God, I’ll even pay you back. I just...I know you want this too, Buck. I know it.”

“Steve,’ Bucky starts, and then leans his head back. “It’s not about the money or the contract, it’s--you know why we can’t do this.”

“You know, I really don’t.”

“It’s--” Bucky pauses and thinks about what to say next. 

The thing about Bucky Barnes, is that he is very good with words. It’s one thing to write a hit melody, but the thing that makes a song a hit, something that everyone wants to listen to, all summer long, that thing is the lyrics. And Bucky knows his way around the language, around how to fit a whole lifetime into 250 words and five minutes at the piano. So Bucky takes a moment, shuffling things around in his head until he’s sure. Because this is important. And when you’re about to ruin your whole life, you’ve gotta get it right.

“I know you think there’s something here, Steve, and you’re not wrong, but it’s not what you think. You’re a sweet kid, and I like spending time with you, but this wasn’t ever going to be anything more than a mutually beneficial arrangement. The sex is good, and before things blew up, I might have called you, but probably not. The fact is you’re too young, and it’s okay that you don’t see it, but one of us has to be the adult here and say enough’s enough.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Steve asks, and Bucky can see a red flush climbing up his neck to his face. He gets off the bed and walks to the dresser, pulling out a pair of sweats. “You’re really going to try to say this is about my age?”

“Are you going to try to say it’s not? Jesus, Steve, if you had a friend who was involved with their much older boss, with a whole lot of money on the line, wouldn’t you think that’s a little sleazy?”

“That is not what this is, and you know it.”

“Do I? Are you telling me I shouldn’t feel like some kind of predator every time I touch you? How’m I any different from any of those actor or producer sleazeballs going after someone who’s half my age?”

“Oh come on!” Steve yells, and he starts pacing in front of Bucky. “You’re being ridiculous!”

“And you’re being impossibly naive,” Bucky says, trying to remain calm in the face of Steve’s growing outrage. “You think I don’t know what people are saying about us? About this? And it’s not even real. One day, you’re going to want more than this, Steve. One day you’re not going to be so excited to be living out of suitcases and waking up wondering what city you’re in. You’ll get tired of sleeping alone and talking me down from 3 am performance highs. Jesus, Steve, some day you’re gonna want a family. I can’t give you that.”

“Why the fuck are you assuming that kids are my end game? Jesus, Buck, I don’t even know if I want kids.”

“Really?” Bucky asks. “I know you told me you wanted kids.”

“I told you I wanted a family someday. I never said kids.”

“Oh give me a break,” Bucky yells. “We both damn well know that we would crash and burn inside of a year. I’m trying to do the right thing here.”

“Oh, God,’ Steve says, throwing his arms in the air. “It’s like you’re actively--” And then he stops, and takes a step back, eyebrows rising. “Wow.” he says. “Okay.”

Steve drops his shoulders and moves past Bucky, grabbing a pillow and the comforter from the bed.

“I’m taking the couch,” he says, and the tone of his voice brooks no argument. 

As he leaves, he closes the door to the bedroom and Bucky leans his head back against the headboard. 

This has been a long time coming, he knows that. Spending all this time with Steve has found Bucky opening up in ways he hasn’t since Natasha, and while there’s a tiny part of him that wants to crack himself wide open for Steve, the bigger part, the part that knows better? That part is frantically patching up all of the places where Steve’s gotten through. 

Even if he wanted to let Steve in, he still wouldn’t. There’s not a single thing that Bucky said tonight that wasn’t true. In time, Steve will see that he’s right. 

.

In the morning, Bucky wakes up feeling hung over and hollowed out. Everything inside of him hurts, and he wants to curl up under the covers and never come out.

But.

He’s in South Carolina and his pity party headquarters are a whole plane ride away. 

Dragging himself out of bed, he opens the door to the living area and immediately looks for Steve on the couch. Instead, he finds the comforter and pillow folded neatly, and the man himself is in the kitchenette, drenched in sweat and chugging a carton of orange juice. 

“Hey,” Bucky says, and Steve pauses for a moment before putting down the juice and turning to him.

“Hey.”

“I’ll,” Bucky gestures to Steve’s sweaty form, “get out of your way.”

“S’fine,” Steve says. “There’s coffee.” He points to a Starbucks cup, and Bucky sees it for what it is: a kind of peace offering.

“Thank you,” he says, and what he means is  _ please don’t be nice to me, I’m an asshole and I know it. _ He shuffles to the counter for the coffee, suddenly very aware of the fact that he’s in pajama bottoms and that’s it. 

Steve walks past him, giving him a wide berth, and a minute later, Bucky hears the shower going. He grabs for the cup of coffee (butterscotch latte, his favorite), and takes a long, fortifying sip.

Bucky knows this is what he wanted. He knows this is what needed to happen. But, God, he’s sorry to see it nonetheless. 

As Steve showers, Bucky packs with resignation. They still have the drive to the airport, plus the flight back to New York. He doesn’t even want to think about going home. If it wasn’t for Sofie Bucky’d be on the next flight to somewhere tropical where he could drink himself into next month and not have to think about Steve Rogers for one single second. 

Unfortunately, he’s got a schedule to keep, more PR than he can shake a stick at, and a kid who’ll work very hard to hide how disappointed she is in him if he fucks any of it up. 

Fuck.

Steve comes out of the bathroom already dressed, hair neatly combed. Bucky slips past him to shower, and the two of them pack in silence. It’s not until they are in the car on the way to the airport that Bucky finally speaks again. 

“Are we okay?” he asks. 

“We only have a few more weeks,” Steve says. “I’m willing to try to make it work. But--” Steve pauses, then takes a breath. “I’d like to keep out of the spotlight as much as possible. And no more sharing a bed when we have to stay at a hotel. I don’t--I don’t want to spend any private time together. I can’t keep--this has to be just work for me. Just a job. Can you respect that?”

“Of course,” Bucky says, but it feels like he’s got a bowling ball in his stomach, leaden and full.

When they get to the airport, he goes to take Steve’s hand, but Steve evades it by putting his hand in his pocket. 

Oh. 

Okay. 

Bucky blinks behind his sunglasses, willing away the heat behind his eyes to disappear. This is what he wanted. This is what he knows is right. But fuck, why is doing the right thing always so goddamned hard? 

Walking out to passenger pick up. Bucky knows there’s a driver waiting.

What he didn’t expect were the paps. 

“Steve! Barnes! Over here!”

“How was the show? When are you releasing the new album?”

“Steve, are you excited to go on tour?”

“Barnes! How many of the new songs were written about Steve?”

“Come on guys, give us a kiss!”

“When are you two getting married?”

Steve takes Bucky’s hand and puts on that sunshine bright smile. He’s all blushing cheeks and blue eyes as he smiles and waves at the press, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s cheek, before sliding into the car behind him.

The moment the door closes, everything changes. He drops Bucky’s hand and his posture becomes stiff. He slides over to the far side of the car, pulls out his phone, puts in headphones, and doesn’t look up again until they get to the house, where he turns and goes straight up to his room. 

Bucky leaves it be. He tosses his duffel bag in his bedroom and ambles down to the living room, checking on the mail and the house log to see if anything needs attention. 

After an hour he decides to start dinner, deciding to do up a couple of steaks and make a mushroom peppercorn sauce to go with them. Sofie’s working on a project with Miles and America, so Bucky told her they’d go out to dinner one night this week. At least he has that to look forward to. 

He puts the potatoes in a basket to steam, before tossing them in duck fat and throwing them in the oven. If he thinks about it, he’ll realize he’s making one of Steve’s favorite meals. But he doesn’t want to think about it. 

By the time dinner is just about done, he goes upstairs and knocks at Steve’s door. 

“Hey, I made dinner if you’re hungry,” Bucky says through the closed door. When the door opens, Bucky takes a step back.

“I’m actually going out,” Steve says. “Thanks though.”

“Okay. I’ll put the leftovers in the fridge, in case you’re hungry later.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve says. “I’m catching dinner with a friend.”

Bucky wants to say _ who with _ and  _ where at _ and  _ don’t _ . 

Instead, he doesn’t say anything, just watches Steve’s back as he goes down the stairs. 

.

The next week goes on the same way. Steve is practically a ghost. During the day, Bucky hits the studio with the band, and by the end of the week, they’ve wrapped the album. They signed a huge contract with SHIELD records, with the band taking a bigger percentage than ever before. 

After they lay down the final track, the label throws them a little party at the studio. It’s the usual celebration: booze and food and families, and while no one asks why Steve isn’t there, Bucky sees the question on their faces. 

“You okay, Boss?” Morita asks. The two of them are picking over the remnants of the appetizers, even though they know they have massive amounts of food still to come. 

“Yeah. Why do you ask?” Bucky replies, almost daring Jimmy to say something. 

The look Jimmy gives him says, “Come on,” and Bucky’s answering shrug says it all. 

As Bucky turns away from the food, Jimmy puts a hand on his shoulder and gives him a squeeze. “I hope it works out,” Morita says. “I haven’t seen you this happy in a long time.”

Two days later, Maria sends them an invitation to a label party in the Hamptons. It’s the last thing in the world Bucky wants to do, but he also knows that Fury will insist. He thinks about going alone, or maybe seeing if Jimmy or Dum Dum wants to come, but in the end, he’s selfish, and he asks Steve to go with him. 

Steve accepts, asking Bucky what he should wear, and the two of them sit in awkward silence when the car sent by the label comes to pick them up.

They’re about twenty minutes into the ride when Steve pulls out his sketchbook. Bucky fiddles with his phone, plays a round of Words with Friends with Sofie, but then he’s stuck staring out the tinted window. 

“What are you working on?” Bucky asks.

Steve stiffens, and then Bucky watches as Steve forces himself to relax. “Nothing special,” he says, but he won’t even look at Bucky when he says it. 

It’s--it’s gutting. All Bucky wants is to be the center of Steve’s world, but he also knows he needs to do the right thing. Besides, if he’s this hard up now, how much worse will it be two years from now, when Steve’s done with him?

The party was a nightmare. A hundred people all asking Bucky about the new album, and none of them listening to a word out of his mouth. The only bright spot was Steve: Steve sticking by his side, Steve holding his hand, Steve telling silly stories about Bucky’s penchant for ice cream. God, it made him downright queasy, knowing that it was all an act. 

Setting his keys on the table, Bucky toes off his shoes and goes to the kitchen for a beer. Steve was unusually quiet in the car. But maybe that’s the new normal. All Bucky knows is that he felt better at that damned party than he has in a week. 

He knows it’s a problem.

“Buck?”

When Bucky turns, Steve’s standing at the kitchen bar, still wearing his jacket and looking all kinds of uncomfortable. 

“Hey,” Bucky says. “What’s up?”

Steve looks down at his feet for a moment, and then he does that thing, that Steve thing, where he straightens up and squares off, shoulders back and the corner of his jaw ticking. Bucky feels the air go still around him.

“When we got to the party I thought it was going to be awful. Like it was back at the beginning, when I was sure everyone knew I was a fraud, just waiting for them to call me out. Then you grabbed me a drink and brought it over, and you put your hand on me, and it felt...I felt relaxed for the first time in days. More than. 

“I looked at you and you smiled at me and after you left, someone leaned over and told me how good I was for you. She said she hadn’t seen you so happy in years. What am I supposed to do with that, Buck?”

“Steve,” Bucky says. “I--”

“Everyone who looks at us can see what I see. The reason no one thinks we’re faking this is because we aren’t, and I don’t understand--”

“Hey!”

“I don’t understand why you’re fighting me so hard on this. And don’t give me some bullshit about my age. Your last wife was younger than me.”

“And that was a huge mistake! She’s my ex-wife for a reason, Steve. Jesus! You act like I’ve never been here before when all I’m trying to do is avoid making the same damned mistakes over and over. You have no idea what’s coming down the road for you and in six months you’re gonna be thanking me for this, you wait and see.”

“You’re so full of shit, Bucky,” Steve says, and he starts pacing. “You’re so full of shit and you’re being a goddamned martyr. You’re a martyr and you’re-- Steve stops, stares at Bucky like he’s had a revelation. 

Bracing himself, Bucky waits for Steve’s next move.

“You’re scared,” Steve says. “God, that’s it. You’re afraid that someone might actually love you, and not just Barnes, but you. Bucky.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Bucky says, but there’s a fury rising in him like he hasn’t felt in years.

“No? Tell me I’m wrong,” Steve says, jutting his chin out. “Tell me you’re not scared to death right now.”

It’s maybe the worst possible thing that Steve could say, because for one moment, when he looks into Steve’s eyes and sees that endless blue and his self-righteousness, he knows that Steve is absolutely right. 

Bucky loses it. 

“You got no fucking idea who I am. You think ‘cause you watched a few interviews, lived in my house a while, you know who I am? What, you’re some kind of expert now? That it?” 

God, he hasn’t been this angry since Natasha.

“Bucky,” Steve says, softening all over in the face of Bucky’s fury, and that only stokes Bucky’s anger. “It’s okay if you’re scared, I understand that. We can figure it out together. We can have--”

“There is no we, Steve, get that through your stubborn skull.”

“I’m in love with you,” Steve says, and the words are so plain, so simple, and there’s no fight in Steve at all. Instead, he’s pleading, and Bucky feels his stomach drop, because...because. 

Because, oh, God, he’s right. Bucky is terrified and it’s infuriating because he’s too goddamned old for this. This isn’t supposed to be how it goes. He’s the one who gets to call the shots, hold all the cards. He’s the one who never has to risk a thing, and yet somehow his heart feels like he’s already lost, and not in the way that he lost with Janie or Lauren, but the way he lost with Nat. The way she threw it all away, even when he begged her to take it back, and he’s right there all over again, watching the thing he loves the most dangling just out of reach.

His fury stills, going from hot to cold in a second. He’s not much of a boxer, but he is old-school Brooklyn, and he knows how to win a fight.

“Get out.” Bucky says.

“Buck--”

“Get out. You’re fired.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes.   
> Should I hide? I'm gonna hide. 
> 
> Over the weekend, federal agents arrived in Portland in unmarked cars, showed no badges, and kidnapped protesters off the streets. As these were not formal arrests, we have no way of knowing if everyone taken has been released. What we do know is that this is a direct violation of our constitutional rights. Protests in Portland continue, and both police and what we assume are federal agents continue to arrest protesters. You can donate to support Portland protesters by donating to the PDX Protest Bail Fund on Gofundme. 
> 
> Looking for a little bit of escape? Check out Con Va Voir on twitter. Our wonderful organizers are doing maker and artist spotlights, hosting trivia nights, and more through the end of the month! Come join us!


	13. Cruel Summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to Deisderium who beta'd this so quickly and caught very many errors. All mistakes are mine!

**Cruel Summer**

_ Although reps for both men have declined to comment, a moving truck was seen at the Barnes residence early this morning. Rumor has it that Steve Rogers, Barnes’s latest love interest, has flown the coop. No word yet on the terms of their parting, but it comes just ahead of the release of Barnes’s first studio album in a decade. Rogers, well known for shying away from the spotlight seems to have had enough of Barnes’s high flying lifestyle. Or maybe he’s just getting ready to hit the books. We have been able to confirm that Rogers will attend Pratt Institute in pursuit of an MFA this fall. Representatives for Natasha Romanova gave no comment.  _

  
  


“Get out.” Bucky says.

“Buck--”

“Get out. You’re fired.”

“I--”

But Bucky doesn’t stick around to hear what Steve might have said. He walks down to the garage and pulls the keys to the Mercedes intending to drive to the marina, but once he gets into the car all he can think about is Steve watching Manhattan from the deck of the Triumph, so nope.

His second thought is Coulson’s, and makes the pit in his stomach sink even deeper, so that’s out, too. 

An hour later, he’s at Nat’s front door, with a very good bottle of wine in his hand.

“James?” Nat doesn’t cover her surprise .

“I fired him.”

“Shit,” she says, and opens her arms for a hug. “Come on.”

He very nearly crumbles then, there in her arms where she smells like citrus and spice, bringing back warm memories of when she meant home to him, and make him realize all over again what he’s lost with Steve.

She settles them in the living room, and once the wine’s been poured, she sits with the silence, letting Bucky talk on his own terms. When he stops to look at her, she’s bare-faced, wearing a dark emerald robe, and even all these years later, she’s breathtaking. 

“Where’s Sof?” Bucky asks.

“At America’s with Miles and Kamala. They’re writing a script, so I said she could sleep over.”

“Oh.”

To her credit, she doesn’t say anything more, just waits him out. She’s always had that knack, and usually Bucky resents it, but today he welcomes it because he needs this, needs the space to try to come to terms with what he’s done. 

“We had an agreement,” he finally says. “At the end of the contract, he was gonna go to school and I was gonna do the rest of the US tour, and we’d see where things stood in the spring.”

“Okay,” she says.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen, I was--I was on top of it this time. I wasn’t gonna let myself….”

“What?” Natasha says. “Feel a real feeling?”

Bucky gives her a sharp look, but she holds his gaze. 

“He deserves better than me. And in six months, a year at most, he’d be--Nat, he’d be so bored with me. I’m not the guy they think I am, you know?”

“I know you don’t always see yourself clearly. It’s a trait we have in common.”

“I just didn’t want….”

“To get your heart broken? I think you’re too late.”

Bucky gets up and walks to the picture window that looks out over Central Park. He takes a big, long drink from his wine glass and sighs.

“You know, this is the first time I’ve seen you drink with intent in months. Are you going to pick that back up again, too?”

“What do you mean?”

“He was good for you, and he loves you, even if he hasn’t said it. Take it from someone who’s been down that road: you don’t want to fuck this up.”

Bucky’s throat feels thick and tight. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I threw away the best thing that ever happened to me, and by the time I realized it, it was too late to go back.

“Tash--”

Nat walks over to where he stands. “You know we can’t go back, and I’m happy now, but James, I was terrified of how much you loved me, of how good our life was. All I could think about was being damaged goods, and that I didn’t deserve you, and that I was going to lose it all, so I made sure of it.”

“You were never--”

“I know that now. But I didn’t then. And I can’t believe I have to say this to a grown man and not my child, but, James, learn from my mistakes.”

Bucky takes a deep breath and holds it, and then another, and then another. He thought, for a long time, that he was the one that ruined them. That he’d toured too much, was too much in the spotlight, that the demands of being with someone like him meant there was nothing left for her. When the hurt was less raw, they’d talked, and while Nat swore that she was the one at fault, Bucky never found a way to believe her. 

“I played a part, too,” he says. “I was gone all the time, and--”

“And you had every right to expect me to be faithful. You were.”

“That’s not--”

“James.”

Bucky stares at her, and is struck by the truth of it. She’s right. He had every right to expect her to be faithful, and she’d never once hinted that she was unhappy, or looking around. She’d never given a hint that their happy life was about to explode, that she was about to blindside him into a life he never wanted.

“Why’d you do it?” he asks. 

Nat blinks and looks away, before moving back to the sofa. “I was only sixteen when I left Russia. When I got away. It took me two more years to get to the US, and then it was months of living hand to mouth while trying to get rid of my accent and learn to speak perfect English. By the time I met you, I’d lived three lives, and then there I was, spending my life with the best man I’ve ever known, more money in the bank that I could count, and the most precious girl in the world calling me ‘Mama’. I felt like such a fraud, and I knew it was a matter of time before you saw through it all, and took it all away.”

“Tash,” Bucky says, his heart panging at the words. This is the most vulnerable he’s ever seen her. He walks to the couch and sits beside her, taking her hand.

“I’m past that now,” she says, giving Bucky’s hand a squeeze and then letting go. “But I’m still sorry,” she says, voice trembling, and Bucky gives her a tug, pulling her to his chest. For a moment--just one--he thinks about what it could be like if they stayed like this. He adores Nat, always has. Maybe there’s enough left between them to rebuild.

But then he thinks about Steve, about how it feels to be on the receiving end of one of his sunshine smiles, so bright and clean it’s like being reborn into the best possible version of himself. He thinks about the way Steve laughs, big and booming, and with his whole body, and the way that Steve...is just Steve. Stubborn and proud and  _ good _ . And Bucky knows. There’s nothing to rebuild, here. His heart’s not his to give. 

“Aren’t I supposed to be comforting you?” Nat says, sitting up and flicking a single tear from her eye. 

“What are friends for?” Bucky says, and he’s surprised to find that he means it. He’d held onto the vague idea that they could get back together for so long that it became a part of him, a secret that he’d kept even from himself. But now, confronted with the idea head on, he knows that it’s not something he wants after all. 

“What are you going to do?” Natasha asks. 

“I don’t know. I gotta talk to him. I don’t know if he’ll even hear me out.”

“Well, you did take the nuclear option.” 

Bucky laughs, a little bit shrill because fuck. He really did. He exercized the full force of his power over Steve rather than act like a fucking adult and facing his own feelings. 

“What are you going to say?” 

“I have no idea,” Bucky replies. “I should probably figure that out before I make it worse, huh?”

Natasha smiles. “You might want to start with the basics.”

“Basics?”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha says, “Tell him you love him.”

Bucky can’t help but smile, because yeah, yeah he does. 

When he calls, the line goes straight to voicemail. That’s okay, Bucky thinks. It would probably be better to do this sober. 

“Shit,” Bucky says. “I can’t drive like this.”

“You can stay in the guest room,” Natasha says. “Or call a car. Either way, but...you might want to pull yourself together before you see him.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “You don’t mind?”

Natasha smiles, and it’s warm and full of friendship and understanding. “It’s fine,” she says. “Besides, my boyfriend’s not back in town until tomorrow.”

“Boyfriend, huh?” Bucky asks. “This is news.”

“It’s new,” Nat says, cheeks barely pinking. 

“Oh yeah?”

Natasha shrugs, but Bucky can see that she really likes this guy, whoever he is. 

“His name is Clint. He...saved me from making a big mistake. He’s a good guy.” 

“As long as you’re happy,” Bucky says. 

“I am,” she says, her eyes clear and bright. “Come on.” She takes his hand, leading him down the hallway. “You’re going to want to be up early tomorrow.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky says, mind already racing, trying to figure out how to fix this. 

It doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep. The booze is potent in his blood and he realizes again what a lightweight he’s become. His last thought as he falls asleep is that it’s all going to be better in the morning. 

It has to be. 

.

When Bucky pulls up to the house, he’s greeted with the sight of a rented pick up truck with a few boxes sticking out of the back.

Fuck. 

Parking, he rushes into the house, hoping it’s not too late. 

There’s a big guy standing on the stairs holding a couple of boxes in his hands. He’s turned back, yelling up to Steve:

“Hey, Steve, you got anything in the kitchen that needs to go?”

“No,” Steve yells back. “Just these last few up here.”

Turning, the man notices Bucky. “Oh hell, here we go.”

“You must be Sam,” Bucky says. 

“And you must be an asshole,” Sam replies. 

Before Bucky can respond, Steve appears at the top of the stairs.

“Oh,” he says blinking. 

“Hey,” Bucky says. “What’s...what are you doing?”

Steve looks at him for a moment, a moment where Bucky can see his hurt, his pain. It’s vulnerable in a way that makes Bucky’s heart howl because he knows he’s the one who put it there. 

Then Steve straightens and closes down, and Bucky can’t get any kind of read on him at all. 

“I’m doing what you asked,” Steve says. “I’m getting out.”

“Please, don’t,” Bucky says. “Just wait. Can we--” he takes a step up the stairs and Steve physically recoils. “Can we just talk?”

“I don’t think there’s much left to say.”

“I--” Bucky founders, and next to him, Sam shifts. 

“I’m gonna get these in the truck,” Sam says, turning to Steve. “You okay?”

“Fine, Sam. I’ll be right there.”

“Please don’t leave,” Bucky says. “Steve, I’m sorry. You’re right, about everything, and I want to try. I want--I want there to be an us.”

“I know you do,” Steve says, but his hard facade hasn’t softened. “You want it right until you get it and then you talk yourself out of it. I can’t live like that.”

“I wouldn’t--I’m not asking you to. I’m ready,” Bucky says. “I want--”

“I don’t.” Steve interrupts. “I kept thinking if I could just show you how good it could be, that you’d...I don’t know, give in. At least try. But every time things got good you’d shut down. And I don’t want to have to talk someone into--into being with me. I deserve better than that.”

“I know you do,” Bucky says, trying so hard not to just break down at Steve’s hard words, each one hitting like a blow. “I want to give you that. I want to give you--”

“Bucky, stop,” Steve says, starting to make his way down the stairs. “I don’t want it, not anymore.” 

Bucky just stares at him, because what can he say? 

Reaching the landing, Steve stops and looks Bucky in the eye. “If you’d just walked away, maybe. But, you fired me to get me out of your life. I--you’re always going to have more money, more power than me. How can I trust that you won’t do it again?”

“I won’t. I--I tried to call you last night, it was a knee-jerk reaction and it won’t happen again. I’m--fuck--I’m sorry.”

“Look. I called Maria and she’s putting together a statement. I told her I’d sign off on whatever she wants to say. I don’t--” And here, Steve finally softens. “I think we both hoped for a different outcome, Buck, but it is what it is. You did so much for me, opened so many doors, and I’m grateful. But I can’t keep throwing myself at someone who doesn’t know what they want. I’ve been on my own for too long not to know how to take care of myself, and whatever this is, it isn’t good for me.”

At his words, Bucky feels the weight of his heart turn leaden. He knows he could try to keep Steve talking, try to talk him out of it. But he realizes that while that’s what he wants--with his whole heart, that’s what he wants--maybe that’s not true for Steve.

Through this whole thing, he’s ignored everything Steve’s said and acted instead on his own fears and insecurities. Maybe it’s time to listen for once.

“I never meant to hurt you,” Bucky says. “I would take back every second if I could.”

“I know,” Steve says, swallowing.

“I--if you ever need anything--anything--please just call me?”

Steve gives him a tight smile. “Sure, Buck. I--”

“Steve?” Sam calls from the doorway. “You good?” 

“Yeah, Sam,” Steve replies. “Just give me a second.” 

“I’ll go grab the last boxes.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, and watches as Sam goes up the stairs. Turning back to Bucky, he says, “I boxed everything up, but I’m only taking my personal items. You can have the rest donated.”

“Steve,” Bucky says, throat tight.

“Gotta go,” Steve says. “Take care of yourself, Buck.”

And then he turns. 

And then he walks away. 

A moment later, Bucky hears Sam coming down the steps, so he moves aside to let him pass.

“Hey,” Bucky says, and Sam stops, but doesn’t turn. “Just...take care of him?”

Sam nods, and walks out, leaving Bucky to close the door behind him. 

He doesn’t. He sits on the stairs and looks out his front door and realizes with a shiver that the only thing that’s felt like home to him in a decade just walked out of his front door. 

Ignoring his phone, Bucky tries to pinpoint exactly what he should be doing next. His heart feels raw, bruised, and he knows it’s his own damn fault. He feels like he finally solved the problem but the class moved on, and he’s behind again. 

He thought he had Steve all figured out, and maybe he was right, but Jesus, now he'll never know. And maybe he would have had his heart broken in a year, two years, hell maybe ten. But between now and then, he would have had…. 

They could have had everything. 

Bucky walks upstairs to Steve’s room, and sits down hard on the bed. Aside from a few boxes, the room’s been scrubbed clean of any trace that Steve was ever there. 

The easel’s been collapsed and leans against the wall. There’s a box labeled art supplies, and another labeled electronics. The closet is open and empty, and there’s another box labeled Men’s Clothes - Donate. 

What he wants to do is open the box and dig out Steve’s clothes and smell them. Or maybe just curl up on the bed and have a good cry. 

He doesn’t do either, though. Instead, he gets up, and he closes the door behind him. He goes to his room for a shower, and then calls Maria to get on with the business of getting on. He wants to put this behind him like it’s just another day. He wants to, but he won’t. 

Eight hours later, Bucky pours himself a much needed drink. Okay, it's less of a drink and more of a glass of whiskey, but, it was a hard day. 

He’d had to explain to Sofie that Steve moved out early, and that it was Bucky’s fault. He’d given Natasha the head’s up, and he’d also sent the message to the band’s group text. Maria gave him a statement to approve; different life paths, grew apart, focus on studies, yadda yadda. Bucky’d authorized the full pay out of Steve’s contract, and Steve requested a prorated payout instead, so Bucky authorized that and sent the balance to the VA. 

At least one good thing came out of the deal: Steve’s going to grad school, and he’ll have enough money to not sweat things, enough to try to get his art career really established. Bucky figures it’s the least he could do. 

Hell, maybe someday he’ll have an original Rogers hanging in his living room. 

Fuck.

Bucky goes to bed, and the next day starts it all over again. 

There’s a show next weekend in LA, and he declines Thor’s invitation dinner after. They do a show in Chicago, and one in New Orleans. Bucky sings every song and hits every note and it’s fine. 

When he gets home, he has Sofie over for dinner, and they talk more about her coming to live with Bucky next fall, after the tour. It’s almost funny, he thinks, when he realizes that he’d been picturing Steve living there all along. He’d been picturing family dinners with the three of them, imagining teaming up with Sofie to finally teach Steve to cook, and he’d imagined...he thought he’d be listening to the pair of them talking about art and creating and not even weighing in, just basking in how well the two of them get on. 

The press storm is, of course, vicious. As much as they’d adored Steve, they can’t stop wondering who was to blame. Some tabloids backed the view that Steve was using Bucky, breaking his heart in the process. Others liked to say that Bucky never got over Natasha, and there was a fan theory going around for a while that Bucky’s “big gay experiment” was at an end. 

He shrugs it off as best he can, and tells Maria to give Steve anything he wants to fight back. 

It’s fine. 

In September Bucky sees a picture of Steve on the Pratt campus, looking up at a pretty girl with a big smile. The headline insinuates a romance, and there’s something so familiar there, in the way that Steve is looking at her. If Steve is moving on, well, that’s his due. Bucky would never begrudge him. But as he looks at the picture, he realizes it’s more than that. 

Sure, he’s head over feet in love with Steve. That hasn’t changed and Bucky doesn’t figure it’s going to; not any time soon. But what’s different is this: Seeing Steve happy, yeah, it makes Bucky sad for the fool of a man he’s been, but he doesn’t begrudge Steve one single moment of happiness. If that pretty girl at Pratt is putting a smile on Steve’s face? Then great. Good for her for doing it.

In all his life, with all his loves, he’s never managed to divorce himself from his own ego enough to love them like this: no agenda, nothing to gain, just being happy to watch them shine from afar. 

Natasha calls it growth. 

Bucky calls it moving on, even though he knows he isn’t. 

The album gets a Christmas release, and the preorders alone send it shooting up the charts.  _ Love to Watch You Leave _ is a smash right out of the gate, and the label’d had to release  _ Nights on the Water _ when the record was leaked online and it became an immediate fan favorite. 

When he takes a step back and really looks at his life, he can see how good he’s got it: His kid is incredible, getting smarter every day. His job is...one in a million. He’s got good friends, Maria is better to him than he deserves, and at the end of the day, there isn’t much more he can ask for. 

So he didn’t get that one thing he really wanted. Not every kid gets the Red Rider BB gun for Christmas, and that’s okay. What he’s got is a lot. He’s grateful. 

Doesn’t stop the lonely though, and while it would be the easiest thing to bring someone home for the night, he can’t for the life of him muster up the desire. 

If he can’t have what he wants, he’ll...he’ll make do with what he’s got.

Maybe someday he won’t want it anymore. 

Bucky’s in another hotel room, running the pre-release press junket.  _ Everyone _ wants to hear from Barnes,  _ everyone _ wants to know about the songs, and while  _ everyone _ wants to ask about Steve, the press has been warned off from even mentioning his name. There was a moment early on when some kid ignored the prohibition on Bucky’s personal life and, hey, guess who made headlines for storming out of an interview? 

Thor reaches out to him and Bucky’s tempted in that moment to come clean about all of it: The good, the bad, the lies. It would be nice to have someone to talk it over with. But...part of him feels like he doesn’t deserve that, and the other part knows it won’t change anything. Bucky wants to unburden himself as much as he wants to pay penance for what he did. 

He wants...he wants...well. He can’t have what he wants, so he starts to work on wanting what he has. 

It’s a lot, some days. Some days all he wants is to crawl into bed with a bottle and get lost in the memories of that one perfect weekend, when the entire world shined like it was made of gold, like it was made just for him. 

He doesn’t though, and he counts that in the positives column. He keeps his commitments and he makes new ones. He works with Maria on setting up next summer’s tour, and he finds a few Sofie-friendly dates so that she can come and see the machine in play. He’s doing a New Year’s Eve show (why not?), but nixed any talk of a Christmas show. Just because he doesn’t have a life doesn’t mean his guys don’t. 

Instead, he makes plans to take Sofie to Mexico for a week, where the pair of them will spend their time exploring and playing beach bum. It’s something to look forward to, and Natasha doesn’t mind, since they both know he’ll be gone most of next year. 

Tonight though, he’s feeling a little melancholy. He thinks about that first trip to LA with Steve, and he wonders again if he’d still make the same choices. Some of the good ones, for sure. Some of the not great ones, he figures, well, he can’t change it now. Besides, Steve looked happy in that photograph, and that’s enough. 

He’s sitting at the piano the hotel’s provided, tinkering with a new song, but the more he plays, the more he comes back to the blank, the song that never got lyrics, but nags at him like a toothache anyway.

As he plays, the solution starts to float into his head. First a cadence, then a word, and behind it all, all of his emotions. Before he knows it, it’s gone three in the morning and he’s still toying with the refrain, but he thinks it’s almost there. Besides he can always sleep on the plane. 

.

Two days later, he’s at his piano, playing the final notes for the guys. He can’t bear to open his eyes and see what they think of it. His hand has been aching like a bitch, but the euphoria of finishing the song, getting it out after all this time, it’s a drug. 

Tonight though, he knows his hand will burn like fire, hot and heavy with hurt. 

The final chord sounds and there’s...fuck. There’s nothing. 

Bucky opens his eyes to the silence, wondering if he got it all wrong. 

When he looks around the room, the guys are all staring at him, Dugan open mouthed, and Gabe looking a little offended.

“That bad?” Bucky asks. 

“I gotta call my wife,” Gabe mumbles, and walks away. Bucky knows they’ve been having problems.

“Jesus Christ, Barnes,” Dugan says. “Jesus Christ.”

Morita looks around the room, then back at Bucky. “I think...that’s maybe the most romantic song I’ve ever heard. Where the hell have you been keeping that?”

Bucky shrugs. “Guess something good had to come from, well. You know.”

“Something good,” Dugan says. “Would you listen to this joker? Something good.”

“I want to release it next,” Bucky says. “I know we can’t get it on the album, but I don’t care. I want--I can’t sit on it.”

“Fine by me,” Morita says, then walks over to the drumset. “I’m not sure it needs much, to be honest,” he says. “But let’s see what happens.”

Morita and Dugan start to tinker with the song, letting the piano shine through the intro and the verses, but coming in with a crescendo at chorus. It takes the song up higher and by the time Gabe comes back and adds his part, the song is...well, Bucky thinks it might be the best he’s ever written. 

And he wants to tell Steve about it. He wants to play it for Steve and see the look on his face, not because it’s literally Steve’s song, but because...because as much as he wishes he had Steve for the bad days, he also wishes he could have him for the good days. Because he knows that Steve would be happy for him, and smile that adoring smile, and shine the way he does, the way that makes Bucky’s heart stick in his throat. 

He also knows that none of that is what Steve wants. Hell, for all he knows, Steve never even gives him a second thought. 

Bucky hopes not, anyway. He hopes that Steve is moving on, finding all new reasons to shine, reasons that have nothing to do with Bucky. 

At the end of the day, all he wants is for Steve to be happy. Bucky knows he’ll find his own way forward, always has, and he hopes...he hopes that if someday he and Steve ever do run into each other again, that they can at least talk to each other like friends. 

That would be enough, Bucky thinks. 

Just knowing that Steve is happy, it would be enough. 

Morita comes up behind Bucky and gives his shoulder a squeeze. “You did good, Boss,” he says. “Be happy.”

Bucky smiles. He knows he’s not, but...he knows he’s working on it. For the first time in a very long time, Bucky realizes that maybe he’s allowed to have a little happiness of his own. For the first time in a long time, he thinks that maybe he deserves it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's official: This is going to have at least two more chapters. I have too many strings to tie up, and I really don't want to rush it. Thank you everyone for hanging in there with me. Your comments are the brightest of spots in a rough world. 
> 
> Speaking of: If you're American, please double-check that you're registered to vote. Nefarious folks have been purging the rolls, especially in key states. Even if you just registered in the spring, it can't hurt to double-check. Also, if you've moved since the last time you voted, you'll need to re-register. Lastly, if you plan to mail in your vote, please consider walking it in to your precinct (if that's allowed) or plan to mail it several weeks ahead of the deadline, registered. Mail services in the US are increasingly unreliable, and that's on purpose.


	14. The Hit Heard 'Round the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished writing this chapter, uh, very recently. And yet Deisderium was good enough to give it a quick going over at the last possible second and gosh, I'm thankful. So are you, readers, though you know it not. All errors are mine. Deis is a goddess.

**The Hit Heard 'Round the World:**

_After a decade long hiatus, Barnes has finally released a new studio album. While critics are saying it's his best yet, fans are eating it up. Tickets for the upcoming tour have been selling out in minutes, with resellers commanding a hefty fee to see the music man. While Barnes hasn't confirmed that his former partner, Steve Rogers, was his muse for this album, he hasn't denied it either. Rogers has recently been seen cozying up to coeds on the Pratt campus, where he's seeking a MFA. When asked about the photos, Maria Hill, Barnes's publicist and manager, declined to comment. At least Barnes will have his money to keep him warm...._

The guys wrap the song in two days, and it takes Bucky a full week to get Fury to agree to add it to the album. The CDs that are already in production won’t have it, but the digital files will, and all future pressings will, too. 

It’s enough. 

It’s going to be out there, and while Bucky hopes that people love it, he knows he’s okay with it if they don’t. He’ll be happy to just set it free, knowing that his aim was true, no matter what anyone else thinks of it. 

It’s one of the many things that Bucky has to feel good about these days. It’s a surprise. He’s still heartbroken over what he’s lost, but instead of spiraling or pushing himself into a whole new host of unhealthy behaviors, he’s just taking the days as they come.

He still can’t bring himself to share his bed with anyone. 

He figures someday, but for now he’s content with himself and his memories. 

It’s funny, with Nat, he went on a revenge-fuck streak that lasted a full year. He didn’t slow down until he met and married Lauren, but the reality is he wasn’t able to fuck Nat out of his heart and he knows better than to try with Steve. 

On the upside, he’s no longer keeping an NDA tucked into his back pocket. He’s sure Maria appreciates the lack of paperwork. 

Bucky’s cooking dinner: A roast chicken with herbs, rosemary potatoes cooked in the fat, and lemony roasted carrots. He made brownies earlier in the day for dessert. Sofie’s been over the whole weekend, working on her part of a project that she’s got going with her school friends. While he loves that she’s going to a school for the arts, what he loves most is that she’s not limiting herself to just music. Her friends have her writing a script, designing a poster, all kinds of things that Bucky never had time for when he was her age. He was so focused on music that nothing else could hold his attention; nothing else came close. 

He’s checking the temp on the chicken when Sofie comes in and starts fidgeting at the bar. 

“What’s up, kiddo?”

“Uhm…” Sofie fidgets a little more and Bucky feels a frisson of nerves run down his spine. It’s not like her to be withholding, and his mind races to all the things he’s not ready for: teenage rebellion, young love, or, God, sex. He knows it’s coming. God. 

“Spit it out,” he says, hearing his father in the sternness of his voice and hating it. 

“I just...I was looking for some paints for the project, you know? I wasn’t snooping, I just thought….”

For the life of him, Bucky can’t imagine what she's found that has her nervous. 

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“I just...here.” She slides a book over to Bucky and he’d recognize that damned thing anywhere. 

It’s one of Steve’s sketchbooks.

“Where’d you find this?” 

“In his room? Blanca asked if I had anything I wanted to get rid of because she was going to do a donation run, and I thought I might find some supplies before they were donated so I looked. The box wasn’t even closed, Daddy. There’s some, uh, other stuff too. I don’t know if he meant to leave it or not, but, some of it looked personal. Papers and stuff.”

Bucky runs a finger along the cover. In all the time that he and Steve spent together, Steve never offered to show his sketchbooks. Bucky thought about asking, but...he always felt like they had time. 

He wants to look. 

But it feels like snooping, so he doesn’t. 

“I’ll...take a look at the box,” Bucky says. “Get it back to him. Thank you, sweetheart.”

Sofie smiles, but still looks displeased. 

“What else?” Bucky asks. 

“I...I don’t know. It’s weird without him here.”

“I know,” Bucky says, taking a deep breath. “It’s different.”

“Yeah,” Sofie says, latching onto the meaning. “Like, Janie and Lauren, they kept trying to be Mom or my best friend, or else Janie just ignored me. But Steve was different. I don’t know,” she shrugs. “I kind of miss him.”

“I know. Steve was always going to go away though, Sof. You knew that...that it wasn’t real.”

“I just...I thought…”

“Hey,” Bucky says, reaching across to take one of Sofie’s hands in his. “It’s okay to miss him. Steve was pretty great. I miss him too.”

“Well, if you miss him too, why don’t you just call him?”

“Because that’s not what Steve wants. And part of being an adult is respecting what someone else wants, even if it makes you sad.”

“I know,” Sofie says, looking down at her plate. 

“Hey, how about after dinner we go out on the boat? We’ll get all bundled up and make s’mores.”

Sofie gives him a slow smile. “Okay. Will you let me steer?”

“In the dark in the winter? No. This spring though...maybe.”

Scrunching her face in a grin, Sofie says “Yassssssssss!” and the two of them laugh, and it feels good.

Bucky still isn’t sure whether it was a mistake letting Steve meet Sofie, but he also knows he’s selfish and he’s glad that he got to watch the two of them as they became friends. He wants to tell her that she should feel free to reach out to Steve if she wants to, but he’s not sure how Steve would take that, and he’s distinctly uncomfortable reaching out himself to find out. 

He guesses Steve’s looking for a clean break. It’s the least Bucky can do. 

The next day Bucky opens the door to Steve’s room for the first time since the day that Steve left. He’d asked Blanca to donate the things that were left over, and eventually he’ll have someone in to redo the room entirely. Maybe make it an office. He knows he doesn’t want anyone else sleeping there, not anytime soon. Not until he stops expecting to hear Steve rattling around in there, anyway.

Opening the door, he’s hit with a stale blast of air: paints and paper and must and Steve. It makes his stomach drop. 

Still, he doesn’t want to wallow. He’s been doing so well, and he doesn’t want to spend the whole morning thinking about Steve, thinking about all he’s lost. 

Instead, he takes a look around the room. It’s just like he remembered it: a couple of boxes labeled for donation, a couple of tacks left on the bulletin board. Easel collapsed and leaning against the wall, and a half-read paperback on the nightstand.

He finds the box that Sofie was talking about, and after digging through it, he decides Steve would probably want it. There’s two more sketch books, a small painting of the view out of Bucky’s living room, and a few envelopes with Steve’s name on them that look like bills, and...and his admissions letter to Pratt. 

God, that night feels like a lifetime ago. 

He puts the sketchbook in the box, then takes it out again and doesn’t let himself think when he opens the cover. Familiar eyes look back at him from the page, and Bucky’s taken aback again at how talented Steve is. 

As he flips through though, it hits him like a punch to the chest. Every page has a new sketch of Bucky: playing the piano, laughing with the corners of his eyes crinkled, laboring over something with his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth.There’s one of Bucky with his face to the wind on the Triumph that Bucky knows has to be half Steve’s own imagination but the way he looks...young and carefree and beautiful. 

Has anyone ever seen Bucky the way that Steve saw him? The love and admiration just pour off of the page, and Bucky feels...he feels...fuck. 

The ache lays heavy in his chest, fresh and thudding, and he knows that the only way out is through. 

He has little doubt that Steve didn’t mean to leave this box behind, and as he remembers that morning, he’s sure it was a mistake. Still, he can’t decide if he’ll be the bigger asshole for leaving it be until Steve claims it, or boxing it up and couriering it over to him. 

There’s also the matter of the song. Steve’s going to know as soon as he hears it what it’s about, and while Bucky’s never held back with his music, part of him feels like he at least owes Steve a head’s up. The press…the press is definitely going to have something to say about it. At the very least, Steve deserves to know what’s coming. 

Hell. 

With a sigh, Bucky picks up the box and brings it downstairs to his office. He has a lot to say, so he might as well get started. 

.

Two hours later, Bucky signs his name at the bottom of the sheet of paper. It doesn’t say enough; he knows that. He tried to walk the line of easing his own conscience, and saying the things that the thought Steve ought to know. Saying maybe some of the things he should have said from the beginning. 

Before he can think twice, Bucky stuffs it into an envelope and tapes it to the box. He sends a text message to Maria, and leaves the box by the front door for the courier to grab tomorrow.

He wants to dwell on it. Hell, he wants to rescue the envelope and burn the box, but hiding from everything is what got him here, so he doesn’t. 

He doesn’t pour himself a very large glass of whiskey, either. 

He doesn’t call Morita and make him talk on the phone for an hour, and he doesn’t call Dugan for an impromptu night out on the town. 

He does text Sofie to wish her good luck on her project. They’re presenting in the morning and Bucky knows how hard she and her friends have worked on it. He adores that she already has such good friends. It took him years to find that, and while he does think of the guys in the band as friends, he’s also very aware of the power differential between them. 

It strikes him again how lonely he’s been, and how wrong it was of him to put the burden of that on Steve. He’s not quite sure how to fix that issue long term. Being on the road makes it hard to form tight friendships outside of the band and crew, and so many of the people he thinks of as friends are scattered around the globe. 

Plus, he’s sometimes a surly asshole, and coupled with his penchant to disappear into his head for days at a time, well. 

He thinks he can probably start by reaching out. Without letting himself think too hard on it, he calls Thor. 

They talk for an hour, and when Bucky’s done, he feels lighter than he has since...he can’t even remember. 

Thor laughed at him for thinking he could ever be casual about Steve. “Any fool could see you were in love with him,” and sympathised when Bucky explained about how it all went wrong. 

“And there’s no hope?” Thor asks. 

“For what? Steve was clear about what he wanted. He doesn’t trust me, and I can’t blame him, not after that stunt I pulled.”

“Normally, I would agree with you, but ask yourself this: Could you be happy, knowing that you never tried? I’m not saying pester the man, Bucky, but are you sure?”

He thinks about it for a long moment, trying to listen to his heart, trying to sort his worst impulses, his fear of abandonment, his fear of being loved, from his desire to love, and be loved. 

It’s a lot. 

“I don’t know,” he finally answers.

“Don’t you think it’s worth finding out?”

Bucky hangs up the phone and stares at the box by the front door for a long while, before picking up the letter and rewriting it. 

In the end, he thinks it’s probably too short. But, he knows words, and he also thinks it says what he means. It’s the best he can hope for. 

The next afternoon, Steve Rogers opens his front door to a courier with a box and letter. 

An hour later, he’s still rereading the letter: 

Dear Steve,

I’ve wanted to t

I don’t know where

I don’t blame you if

I miss you. I miss maybe everything about you, from your ridiculous work out schedule to your fingertips smudged with ink and charcoal. I miss how being with you made all the bad stuff not go away, but simmer down to something I could get my hands around. I miss seeing you at my table, eating my food, talking to my kid. I miss the way you laugh with your whole body.

I did everything wrong. I know that. Firing you was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done and I know I can’t take it back. But I also don’t know if I would. I think I had to lose you to see what a jackass I’ve been. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t regret it. Every day, I regret it. 

The thing I regret most is that I hurt you. You’re a grown man and I never once gave you that respect. And you were right: You deserve so much better than what I did give you. It’s all on me. I know that. 

I’m not asking you for another chance. I know there’s not coming back. I saw the pictures and I think you probably moved on. I hope she brings you all the happiness I never gave you, and more, because I don’t know anyone who deserves it more.

Listen, there’s a song coming out, and I don’t want you to be surprised, and if it hits, there’s gonna be press, but I also want you to know that I mean it: I wish you all the love in the world, Steve. 

PS - Maria’s sending a couple of tickets to my next show in the area. All VIP, so bring your girl. I know we had a different kind of Valentine planned, but. But it would mean a lot if I could at least still call you friend. 

Bucky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so grateful to you all for seeing this fic to its near conclusion. Your comments have brought me so much happiness. I am SO excited for next week's chapter, and the conclusion of this fic. <3 <3 <3
> 
> Friends, I cannot express to you enough how urgent it is that you check your voter registration, re-register if needed, and VOTE as early as possible. The drive to suppress the votes of black and brown people cannot be overstated, nor can the drive to suppress votes in primarily Blue states, cities, precincts. Your voice deserves to be heard.


	15. The Songbirds are Singing Like They Know the Score

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deisderium has been the most extrordinary cheer-leader, beta, friend I could hope for. If not for her, IDK if I would have finished this fic. Thank you so much, friend. <3 <3 <3

Bucky rolls down the sleeve of his shirt, flexing his left hand as he does, before rebuttoning his cuff. 

“That’s it?” he asks. 

Dr. Cho smiles. “That’s it.” 

“I guess I thought it would hurt.” 

Stepping back, Dr. Cho smiles at him again. “I’m not in the habit of tormenting my patients, Mr. Barnes. Even if they do like to torment themselves.”

Bucky looks chagrined. “I know, I know.”

“You’re lucky you came in when you did. Another year, another tour, you could have done permanent damage.”

“I just figured there probably wasn’t anything to be done about it, you know?”

“And now we know better, right?”

“Yes ma’am,” Bucky says. 

“Good. Now no alcoholic beverages for the next three days. Is that going to be a problem?”

“Nope,” Bucky answers, and he’s glad that he can be honest. Once the doctor diagnosed his condition as a relatively rare form of arthritis, she put him on a regimen of meds that meant no alcohol for three days on either side of his injections. He doesn’t miss it. 

“Great,” Dr. Cho says, placing the syringe in the sharps container on the wall. “I know your schedule is about to get hectic. You might want to think about hiring a nurse for part of your tour. She can keep me up to date about your condition, and administer the injections on time. As much as I love to travel, I don’t plan on making house calls all over the world,” she says with a smile. 

“Ehh,” Bucky says. “Are there other options? I don’t want to go public with this yet, and nothing says “Serious Medical Condition” like having a nurse on tour with me.”

Dr. Cho thinks. “I can train someone on the injections, that part isn't hard. But I’m more concerned with your vitals, having you check in regularly, and you really can’t miss doses of this. Plus you’ll want someone who can give you cortisone shots when you need them as well. This tour is going to be hard on your hand, I won’t lie. You can do it, but you’re really going to have to take care of yourself. Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider?”

“No way,” Bucky says. “I know I’m going to have to slow way down if I want to...to keep being able to use it. I’m up for it. I just...I want one more big tour, you know?”

Smiling, Dr. Cho pulls out a file folder. “I thought as much. Here’s a list of nurses that I can personally recommend. They all have a thorough understanding of your condition, and current HIPAA laws preclude them from saying anything about your treatments to anyone. At least talk to a couple of them, alright?”

“I’ll think about it,” Bucky says, but he takes the folder and he knows that in a few days he’ll end up calling one of them. 

He was terrified when he made that first doctor’s appointment, but he knew he wasn’t going to be able to get through the tour, and he’s finally realized that knowing the truth, one way or another, would be better than wondering, living in fear. 

It’s almost funny: all those little things that Steve used to do to take care of Bucky, he’s now doing for himself. He goes to the doctor, he’s cut back on the drinking, eats right, hell, he’s even started using his home gym more often. The stuff that really matters though, the self-care, Bucky’s been better about doing that as well. He’s stopped worrying so much about what people think, what they want from him, and he’s started thinking more about what he wants. 

He was surprised to find that with the exception of one thing (and it’s a big one, he knows) he’s already got damn near everything he needs to be happy. 

It’s alright. 

There’s a part of him, a tiny part, that hopes that if he ever sees Steve again, that Steve will be proud of all the good changes that Bucky’s made. But even if he never sees Steve again, he’s going to keep it up. For the first time in a really long time, he feels proud of the man he is. 

.

The Garden is buzzing with people, with energy. Bucky’s been here since sound check, going over every little thing, making sure it’s all perfect. 

He tells himself that it’s because he’s playing for his hometown crowd. 

He tells himself that it’s because it’s the Garden. 

He does not ask if his VIP has checked in, because he tells himself that it doesn’t matter. He tells himself that he doesn’t want to know. 

Okay, so he’s still working on that whole “lying to himself” thing. He’s a work in progress. 

“Boss,” Morita calls. “Caterers are here.”

“Eh,” Bucky says. “I’ll be there in a few.” 

He knows he won’t eat much. He still doesn’t like eating before a show, and tonight he’s doubly nervous. 

He’s going over the set list again when Dugan comes out to the hallway where he’s pacing and drags him back to the dressing room.

“Eat something,” he says with a pointed look. “You’re gonna pass out out there if you don’t eat.”

Bucky gives him a solid glare. “Yes, mother.”

“Fuck off,” Dugan says, but he’s grinning. “What’s got you so nervous anyway? Everyone’s loving the new stuff, the album’s doing great. What gives?”

“It’s only the Garden,” Bucky says. “Not like it’s special.”

Morita laughs. “Sure, boss. ‘Cause we haven’t played the Garden a bunch of times.”

“It’s his special guest,” Jones says. “Saw the comps list earlier.”

“Ohhhh,” Morita says. “Holding out on us, boss? Who is it?” 

Bucky takes a moment to appreciate that the guys aren’t assuming that it’s a man or woman, but that’s as far as he goes before his stomach clenches up again. All this tension really can’t be good for him. He doesn’t know if it will be worse if Steve comes, or better. 

(That’s a lie. It will be horrible to see him with someone else and so wonderful to see him at all, but if he has to choose, he’d rather see Steve than not. He’s never actively dreaded and anticipated anything like this in his life.)

“You guys are assholes,” Bucky says, but takes a bite of the chicken meatball on his plate. Before anyone can really give him grief, the opening act starts up, and the guys all focus on finishing up their food before getting ready to go on stage. 

Bucky goes back to pacing the hall, flipping through a book with the setlist and the lyrics, like he’s cramming for a history test. 

Like he doesn’t have every note memorized. 

He’s going to play Steve’s song tonight, whether Steve shows up or not. As soon as they released it, it turned into a monster, with Hollywood calling, wanting to put it in this movie or that TV show, some asshat trying to put it in a commercial, and digital numbers that blew Bucky right away. 

No word from Steve though. He’d told Maria to give him anything he wanted to deal with the press, but he didn’t ask her if Steve took her up on it. 

By the time the opening act is winding down, Bucky realizes that Steve’s not going to show. 

It’s okay. 

It’s what he expected. 

Breathing deep, he shakes himself out, trying to get his head back into the game. He’s got a show to do, and he’s at the Garden, playing for his people. He’s not going to fuck it up. 

He turns to grab the guys and stops in his tracks. 

Steve is standing there, looking around with a question on his face and Bucky, he’s... _ God _ . 

When he thinks about Steve, really tries to picture him in his head, it’s like Steve is one of those old Italian paintings, with a halo of gold around his head, shining so bright that Bucky can’t really see him. 

Here, though. Now? He can see Steve crystal clear, and Steve looks. 

He looks so good. 

His skin is paler than it was in August, but he still has that golden glow that makes Bucky want to put his hands all over him. His eyes are that same endless, ocean blue, and all those features that Bucky figured he’d idealized in his mind are still there, only sharper, more clear. More beautiful. 

Steve spots Bucky just as Bucky gets his bearings and starts toward him. 

“You came,” Bucky says, and he is not getting choked up. 

Steve smiles. “I came.” 

“That’s--that’s so great. Uhm. You and your--did you bring a date? There’s a green room, we can get you set up there.”

“Bucky,” Steve says, and for the life of him, Bucky cannot read the look on his face. Someone brushes past Bucky and the pair of them step aside, out of the flow of traffic.

“You look great,” Bucky says, and he hopes he’s not crossing a line, but he really can’t tell because Steve is inscrutable. 

He stops trying to figure it out and looks away, down at his feet, giving himself a moment to collect himself. Now that Steve’s here, he can admit that he had his hopes up. But now that Steve’s here, Bucky doesn’t know what to do. 

He knows what he wants to say, he just doesn’t know if he has the courage. 

“Hey,” Steve says, and reaches out for Bucky, takes his wrist in one of his big hands. 

Bucky looks down at where they’re joined, then back up at Steve. “I didn't think you’d come,” he says, giving Steve at least that much. 

“I wasn’t going to,” Steve says. 

Disappointment hits him hard, maybe harder than he expected because even though he didn’t want to get his hopes up, now...now he’s standing here looking at Steve. While he’s known, objectively, that he’s in love with Steve, he hasn’t really let himself feel the full force of it, not until this moment. It’s the kind of thing that’ll crush a man if he’s not careful, and Bucky is not a careful man. 

“Oh,” Bucky says, finally forcing a word out of his mouth. 

“I wasn’t going to,” Steve says, and he slides his hand from Bucky’s wrist to hold his hand, tugging until Bucky looks up at him. “But then I realized I couldn’t stand the thought of you waiting here alone. Hoping? And then I figured that if that’s how I feel, that maybe I should tell you.”

“Oh,” Bucky says again, trying to take in the new information, feeling his heart go from plummeting to making a slow climb back up until it rests in the back of his throat. 

“Buck,” Steve says, tugging on Bucky’s hand, pulling him closer. 

The look on Steve’s face is soft and earnest, so full of emotion, and--and wonder. Bucky feels his whole body warm over, just looking at it. 

Steve reaches up, cups Bucky’s face with his hand, strokes his thumb across Bucky’s cheek, wiping away a tear Bucky wasn’t aware of falling. 

“Turns out I’m still in love with you,” Steve says. His voice is pitched low, and it hits Bucky like an earthquake, like he can’t trust the ground underneath him to stand still. 

“You are?” Bucky croaks.

“I am,” Steve says. He has the softest smile on his face. 

“I’m in love with you,” Bucky says, blinking away more tears. “I’m in love with you a lot.” 

“I was kind of hoping that was the case,” Steve says, and then he’s leaning forward, and then he’s kissing Bucky, and Bucky’s kissing back, and it might just be the happiest he’s ever been. 

When they break the kiss, the two of them get a little lost, just looking at each other. 

“You look good,” Steve says. 

“I'm...different,” Bucky replies with a shrug. 

“Yeah?”

Bucky leans up to brush his lips against Steve’s. “Yeah. If you’re--if we’re gonna do this, it’s gonna be real different.”

Steve brushes his thumb against Bucky’s cheek again, before leaning down for another kiss. “Not too different?”

“Good different,” Bucky says, smiling. 

“Good different,” Steve says back, grinning. “That mean I don’t have to sleep in the guest room anymore?”

“Eh, we’ll see,” Bucky says. He’s smiling so hard his cheeks ache. 

The pair of them stare at each other, grinning like fools, oblivious to the rush and flow of the people around them. Finally, he leans up and puts his arms around Steve. 

“I’ve really missed you.”

“You mentioned,” Steve says, rubbing his nose against Bucky’s. Then he cups Bucky’s jaw with one hand and kisses him, long and hard, using his other arm to wrap around Bucky’s waist, pulling him in even closer. 

“That song,” Steve says, when the kiss breaks. “I can’t...it’s…” Steve shrugs and Bucky starts to worry, but then Steve dives in for another kiss. 

“It’s honest,” Bucky says. 

“You’re really gonna be mine?”

“For as long as you want me. If it’s two weeks, if it’s forever. I’m yours.”

“I really like that,” Steve says, and leans in for another kiss. 

“Barnes! Jesus!”

The pair break and turn to look as Dugan and Denier rush over to him.

“We got a fuckin’ show to do you asshole. Everyone’s waiting,” Dugan says. 

“Sorry,” Bucky replies, taking a half step away from Steve and rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Ah,” Dugan says, taking in Steve and then looking at Bucky. “Your comp?” 

“It’s good to see you again,” Steve says, putting his hand out to shake. 

“Yeah,” Dugan replies, and then Denier takes Steve’s hand as well. 

“Very good to see you again. Very good.”

“Barnes,” Dugan says. “The show?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, then turns to Steve. “The show must go on.”

“I can’t wait.”

Two and a half hours later, Bucky’s sung half the new album, most of the greatest hits, and they’re on their last encore. He’s saved Steve’s song for last, and when he finally strikes the opening notes, the crowd starts screaming, before finally hushing to listen. 

“ For you, there'll be no more crying.

For you, the sun will be shining.

And I feel that when I'm with you,

It's alright, I know it's right.”

As he sings through the second verse, he can see Steve move into his line of vision. 

He can’t help the way he smiles. 

The music flows out of his fingers like he was born to it, and maybe he was. Or maybe it’s the man standing in front of him, giving him another chance, a man who believed in Bucky until Bucky could believe in himself. 

Steve is just offstage, smiling at Bucky and Bucky is absolutely getting teary-eyed as he launches into the bridge and chorus: 

“And I wish you all the love in the world,

But most of all, I wish it from myself.

And the songbirds keep singing, like they know the score

And I love you, I love you, I love you

Like never before.”

When he’d written the words, it was a break up song, a good-bye. But now, with Steve standing here in front of him, it’s pledge, a promise. 

Steve has his whole heart, and it’s terrible that one person has so much power over him, but Bucky wouldn't have it any other way. Maybe Steve will get tired of all of it in a couple of years, but Jesus, he’d rather have a couple of years of this...this incandescent happiness, than to always wonder “what if.” 

When he plays the last notes of the song, the crowd yells and screams and claps and Bucky couldn’t be higher if he tried. He beckons to Steve and Steve jogs over, meeting Bucky in the middle, wrapping his arms around Bucky and laying a kiss on him, right there in front of everyone.

Bucky’s never heard a crowd cheer so hard. 

He and the guys make a final bow, and once they exit the stage, the lights go up. 

The crowd though, they stay where they are, clapping and cheering and screaming. 

How did he get so lucky, he wonders. How could he possibly deserve this? It’s humbling, in ways he never expected. All he wants to do is to earn it, this faith that people, that  _ Steve _ , has placed in him. 

With Steve’s fingers still tangled in his, they make their way to the dressing room, and then eventually out to the car that’s waiting. Bucky’s about to ask him where he wants to go, when Steve turns and looks at him. 

“I know we still have a lot to talk about,” he says. “And I know we will. But for now, can we just go home? I just want you to take me home,” Steve says.

It’s an echo of that night on the Triumph, when Steve asked Bucky to take him home, and it resonates inside of him just as loudly as it did the first time. It fills him with as much love, as much hope for the future as it did the first time, but with none of the fear. It's a feeling he could get used to.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, leaning up to brush his lips against Steve’s. “Let’s go home.”

The end 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: *SCREAMING* @jenofthemoon covered a version of Songbird and oh my god you GUYS!!! My eyes are tex avery style hearts right now!! Please give it a listen!! https://soundcloud.com/cleansweep5/songbird 
> 
> So, there it is. 
> 
> I have been wanting to write a version of a musician/ordinary human story since I was maybe 15? And now it's done and this is a version that I'm mostly happy with. 
> 
> I will probably write a little epilogue bc I love epilogues like whoa. But for all intents and purposes, this fic is complete.
> 
> The song is Songbird, written by Christine McVie and performed by Fleetwood Mac on the iconic Rumours album. It's certainly the most romantic song *I've* ever heard. I hadn't originally planned to include the lyrics, but over time, the song took on almost a persona of it's own, and I felt like I should. I hope it didn't diminish the fic for any of you. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who read along with it. Your comments, tweets, DMs, all of it made this experience so wonderful. Thank you, Thank you. <3 <3 <3
> 
> Special shout out to Jen. You know what you did. :') <3 <3 <3


	16. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just pure HEA, tooth-rotting fluff. It's unadulterated schmoop, so please feel free to skip it if that's not your jam. I'm just a sucker for this sort of thing. Unbeta'd.

**_One year later...._ **

“Quit being a baby,” Steve says. 

Bucky grumbles and holds onto the bathroom counter. “Yeah? You get a shot in the ass every other week and tell me how much you like it.”

Steve chuckles. “Too bad I can’t kiss it and make it better.”

“Remind me why we invited her again?”

“‘Cause she’s your kid and we both love her?”

“Sure,” Bucky says. “Bring logic and reason into it.”

“All done,” Steve says, and gives Bucky a light smack on his ass. 

“Hey!” Bucky yelps, but Steve just laughs. 

They’re in Colorado, where Bucky has had shows at Red Rocks the last two nights. In the morning, he, Steve, and Sofie will pack up into a rented car and head to a little cabin just outside of Rocky Mountain National Park for a quick break before Steve and Sophie head back to school, and Bucky heads to Europe for the last leg of the tour. 

It’s been one hell of a year, and it’s not even over. Bucky’s been on tour since just after he and Steve got back together, and while Steve has joined him as much as possible, he still had school through May, so their time was limited. 

It’s been nice, in a way. They haven’t been able to rely on building intimacy through their physical relationship. Instead, most days found them spending an hour or more on the phone with each other, sharing themselves, their days, their lives. It’s the closest Bucky’s felt to someone else in a really long time. 

“Are you guys being gross in there?” Sofie yells, and Bucky and Steve burst out laughing. 

“Probably,” Bucky yells back. “Go on,” he says to Steve, leaning up to give him a kiss. “I gotta hit the shower.” 

“Yeah,” Steve says and leans in for another kiss. 

“Go,” Bucky says, leaning to turn on the water. 

“Ugh, fine.” Steve leaves, but doesn’t quite close the door behind him. They’re in a two bedroom, one bath suite, and while Bucky is dying for some adult fun with Steve, they’ve both agreed that it’s too weird with Sofie in the next room. 

Pulling off his t-shirt, Bucky goes for his belt, then remembers that he doesn’t have clean clothes to put back on. 

Walking toward his room, he overhears Steve and Sofie talking in the living room, and feels warm all over. God, this week is going to be great. Five whole days with the two people he loves most. He’s gone gooey with it. 

“It’s different with you,” he hears Sofie say, and he doesn’t mean to linger in the doorway and listen. He doesn’t. But...

“How so?” Steve asks.

“I don’t know. You just--you make him really happy. I mean, I know he was with Mom, but I don’t really remember that much from when they were married.”

“I don’t remember a lot of my folk’s marriage either, but my dad wasn’t a very good guy, so that’s probably a good thing. It’s nice to hear though, that I make him happy.”

“Yeah. So you know, if you guys wanted to get married, I guess that would be cool.”

Bucky strains to hear what Steve says next, but for a long minute, there’s nothing but a low murmur, just the timbre of Steve’s voice.

Then: “Oh my god, stop!” from Sofie, her high voice ringing out loud with laughter. 

Bucky smiles at the sound of her laughter, then shakes himself loose and hunts down clean clothes for after his shower. 

When he’s done and drying off, Steve comes in and wraps his arms around Bucky, pressing his face into Bucky’s wet neck, squeezing him tight. 

“You okay?” Bucky asks, hearing Steve give a little sniffle. 

“Yeah” he says into Bucky neck. “But if we ever split up, I’m keeping Sofie.”

Bucky holds Steve tighter, pressing a kiss against Steve’s shoulder. “She’s pretty great, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Yeah, she is.”

.

**_Two years later…_ **

The last of the patrons leaves, and the gallery owner, Claire, locks the door and leans against it, closing her eyes and smiling.

“I knew this was going to be good,” she says, without opening her eyes. “I didn’t know it was going to be  _ great. _ ” 

“Thank you again,” Steve says, walking toward her. He’s wearing a navy blue suit with crisp white shirt and he looks like a million dollars. More than. His face is clean shaven, and his eyes are sparkling that dark, ocean blue that sends Bucky spinning, still. 

“Believe me,” she says, straightening. “It was my pleasure. I’m going to get started on some of the paperwork,” she says, but stay as long as you like. You can leave through the back when you’re ready.”

Bucky catches Claire’s eye, and she gives him a small smile, then disappears into the office. Bucky walks to the back where the caterers are closing up and grabs a couple of glasses of champagne.

“Congratulations,” Bucky says. He’s beaming. 

Steve flushes under the attention, but takes the glass and accepts Bucky’s toast. “I can’t believe they all sold,” he says, head ducking in embarrassment. He’s beautiful. 

“I can,” Bucky says. “Steve, you’re really good.”

Shrugging, Steve looks around the gallery. Each of his works has a little red “sold” tag next to the display plate, and Bucky wells up with pride again seeing it.

“I was surprised Natasha came,” Steve says. 

Looking around, Bucky turns back to Steve with an incredulous look. “I’m not.” Several of the paintings are of Sophie, with the centerpiece being a portrait. It calls to mind a Degas, with Sophie in a pink leotard and a long pink tulle skirt. However, instead of ballet slippers, she’s wearing Docs. In one outstretched hand she’s holding the earth, and her long red hair is littered with flowers. There’s a point where her hair becomes nothing but flowers,and she’s dancing on what looks like a river of flowers, a riot of spring colors, all of it contrasted with her bright red hair. It’s beautiful. . 

And, if he’s being honest, it’s a little pop art for Bucky’s taste, but he wasn’t surprised one bit when Natasha snapped it up the moment she walked in the door. He would have wanted it himself, but Steve gave him a small triptych of pastels in the same style for Father’s Day. It’s small enough to fit into a suitcase, and Bucky routinely takes it with him when he’s out of town. 

“I’m really proud of you,” Bucky says. 

Steve blushes and ducks his head again. “Thank you, Buck.”

“I mean it,” Bucky says. “Look at everything you’ve accomplished. You should be proud.”

Steve looks like he’s going to demur a moment, but then he straightens. “I am. You’ve given me so many opportunities, and I’m grateful, but I’m also proud of what I’ve done with them.”

“Such a punk,” Bucky says, smiling. God, is he ever not going to be bowled over by this incredible man? “You don’t owe me anything. This is all you.”

“It’s a little bit us,” Steve counters, looking over at a painting of two silhouettes engaged in their own private dance. There’s an air of eroticism about it, but also something that’s soft and tender. Bucky would want it for his own, but again, he has something a lot more meaningful at home, hanging on their bedroom wall. 

“Speaking of,” Bucky says. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you for a while now, but I wanted to make sure the timing was right.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Yeah. I mean, you’ve graduated, you have a career now, you own your own home. You got everything in the world going for you.” 

“I do,” Steve says. “Don’t forget the rock star boyfriend.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “About that. I was thinking it might be time to trade up.” He watches as the smile on Steve’s face falters before Steve schools his expression to something more open. 

They haven’t had a fight in a long time about Bucky wanting more for Steve. Bucky still struggles with whether he deserves Steve or not, but he also decided a long time ago to believe in Steve. To believe in them. 

Before Steve can get too deep into wondering what’s going on, Bucky takes his hand and opens it. Looking down at Steve’s palm, Bucky starts to speak.

“I want to say a hundred things to you, and I’ve practiced this for a week now and I’m not going to get it right. But I don’t ever want to be without you, I know that.”

“Buck--”

“Let me,” Bucky says, and looks up into Steve’s eyes. God, he’s already fighting back tears. “I’m the best version of myself when I’m with you,” he says. “And I never want to lose that. And I know I won’t always get it right, but I’ll never stop trying for you. I’ll never give up on you. On us.” 

He watches as Steve’s eyes start to water, and he squeezes Steve’s hand before reaching into his pocket. He takes out the ring and places it in Steve’s hand. “Will you marry me?” he asks. 

“Bucky,” Steve says, and he looks down at the ring. It’s a plain gold band, nothing fancy; just a placeholder for whatever it is that Steve wants, because at the end of the day, Bucky would give him anything. 

“I love you,” Steve says, and takes Bucky’s face in his hands and kisses him and kisses him and kisses him. 

When he breaks the kiss, he leans his forehead against Bucky’s, breathing deep. When Bucky looks, he can see the shine of tear tracks on Steve’s cheeks, even as he lets himself be held in place. 

After a moment though, he shifts. 

“So...is that a yes?”

Steve laughs, soft and puffing against Bucky’s lips before he pulls away. “You're an asshole,” he says. “I was having a moment.”

“You’re leaving me hanging,” Bucky says. “Jesus, Steve I got my whole heart in your hand there and you still haven’t answered the question!”

“Yes!” Steve says, grinning like a loon. He reaches up to wipe the tears from his face, then looks at Bucky, so fond. He bites his lip, still smiling. “Yes, Bucky Barnes, I will marry you.”

“Really?” Bucky asks, teasing. “You sure? ‘Cause it took you a minute.”

“Such an asshole.”

“Your asshole.”

Steve brings an arm around Bucky’s back. “Hmm...let’s go home and explore that.”

“Are...you making a sex joke? In the middle of my proposal?”

“It's more likely than you think,” Steve says deadpan, and the two of them laugh until they’re holding onto each other. 

“I love you so much,” Steve says, as they start coming down from their euphoria. 

“I love you, too,” Bucky says, leaning into Steve a little, breathing in this man who turned his whole world upside down. “So much.”

.

**_Three years later…_ **

Steve and Bucky are in the back of the car, the driver bringing them home from dropping Sofie off for her first year of college. She and Miles got into NYU, so Bucky’s happy she’ll have a friend there, even as he’s nervous about her being away from home for the first time ever. 

It’s been an emotional day. 

While he can’t say his little girl is all grown up, it is one of the big milestones.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Steve says, squeezing Bucky’s hand. 

“I’m going to miss her.”

“She’ll be home by Halloween. With a bag full of dirty laundry and at least one new composition she’ll want to show off for you.”

“You think?” Bucky asks, hoping. He knows she’s not far away, but he doesn’t want to hover. It’s important for Sofie to claim this time, her independence. He knows that. 

“Wait and see,” Steve says, squeezing Bucky’s hand again. 

Bucky looks down to where their hands are joined, sees Steve’s gold ring, and squeezes his fingers together to feel his own ring. 

They’d married in a quiet ceremony that spring, just the two of them and the people they’re closest too: Steve had a half dozen friends, including Sam, Wanda, and Pietro. Bucky had Maria, the guys in the band, Thor, and Nat and Clint. Bucky’s been surprised to find that once he started letting people in, they tended to stick around. 

Sofie served as the joint Best Man. 

The memory of that day still brings a smile to his face. 

Then he’s lost thinking about Sofie, about how beautiful she’s become, how talented. She’d decided she wanted to score movies, maybe work on musicals. She has one hell of a future ahead of her, Bucky thinks. He might be biased. Maybe. 

“Would you ever do it again?” Steve asks, jarring Bucky from his memories. 

It takes him a moment to figure out what Steve’s talking about. "That a proposition?"

"Maybe?"

"I'm old."

"That's not no."

"It's not," Bucky says, because, yeah, he's been thinking about it, and if there's something Steve wants, Bucky means to see he gets it.

“Good to know,” Steve says, but doesn’t bring up again that day. 

.

“Would you want a boy or a girl?” Steve asks. 

“I don’t think you get to choose.”

“If we adopt we could.”

“You don’t want to use a surrogate?”

“You’d do that?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky says, which is a lie because of course he’d do that. He’s gonna do whatever Steve wants. He knows that much.

“Huh,” Steve replies. 

.

“If we did a surrogate, who’d be the dad?”

Bucky blinks. “Wouldn’t that be both of us?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I mean whose sperm would we use.”

“I kinda thought you’d want to use yours.” 

“Oh. So you don’t want another kid?”

Bucky’s at the piano, tinkering with a melody while Steve sketches at the window. They spend a lot of time like this, and it’s nice, and it’s something that they’ll give up, at least in part, if they have a kid. Getting up, he goes to the couch and sits, patting the cushion next to him, waiting for Steve to join him. They haven’t talked about this, not really, and Bucky figures it’s time to say what’s on his mind. 

“I don’t know how fair it is to have another kid,” Bucky says. “I’m gonna be fifty soon. How many more good years am I going to have?”

“Seriously, Buck?” Steve asks, but then quiets as he sees that Bucky is serious. 

“I don’t want our kid growing up on stories about me because I’m already gone.”

Steve takes Bucky’s hand, brings it up to his mouth, and kisses his knuckles. “I don’t want to do this if you’re not a hundred percent sure. It’s not a deal breaker. Not even close.”

Bucky shrugs. “The reality is, I’m going to go before you, and I know you don’t like talking about it, but it’s true. I don’t want to leave you raising our kid alone.”

“Holy shit, Bucky, you’re not that much older than me,” Steve says, laughing, and well, fuck him, Bucky means what he’s saying. 

“Hey,” Bucky says, drawing his hand away. 

“Come on,” Steve says, still smiling and taking Bucky’s hand in both of his. “You’re seventeen years older. That’s not a lifetime. And for all your worrying about it, I could get hit by a bus tomorrow, we don’t know.”

“But probably not,” Bucky says.

“No,” Steve says. “Probably not. But do you want to spend the next thirty years waiting to die, or living your life?”

“Hey,” Bucky says, but doesn’t follow it up, because what’s he supposed to say?

“We have a beautiful life, Buck. Stay in it with me.”

Bucky leans his head into Steve’s shoulder, because dammit, he’s right. Bucky still gets too far up into his own head sometimes, and like a lifeline, Steve is there to pull him out.

“We don’t have to make any decisions today,” Steve says. “Let’s just let it breathe.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Okay.”

.

“Buck?”

“Yep?”

“What’s this?” Steve’s holding a couple of folders in front of him.

“Agency sent some stuff over,” Bucky says, and tries to hide his smile by looking down at his desk.

“I…Do you mean it?” Steve asks, and by the tone of his voice, he’s fighting back tears already. 

“Yeah,” Bucky says, finally looking up. “You’re gonna be a great dad. I want to see it.”

“Bucky,” Steve says, pulling Bucky into his embrace, pulling him close. “Oh my god.”

“Hey,” Bucky says. “We haven’t even met with them yet.”

“I know. Just…”

“I know,” Bucky says, because he does. 

.

“How’s classes?” Bucky asks, passing the creamer over to Sofie. Steve absolutely called it when he said that Sofie would be back before Halloween. It’s mid-October. The two of them are standing in front of the coffee maker, while Steve’s down at the home gym getting in his daily work out. 

“Good,” she says. “Busy.”

“You learning lots?”

“I hope so? I have midterms next week.”

“Well you know we’re here to help if you need it.”

“Thanks, Daddy,” she says, and it pangs Bucky’s heart a little because she hasn’t called him that in at least a year. 

“Hey,” he says. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

She looks at him with wide eyes. 

“Nothing bad,” he amends. “Just...Steve and I are talking about maybe having a kid. Wanted to know what you think.”

“Ohhh,” she says. “Yeah, Steve asked me about that awhile ago.”

“He did?” Bucky asks, surprised. 

“Yeah, he just--he wanted to make sure I would be okay with it. He said, you know, it wouldn’t be a replacement or anything.”

Bucky reels because while it was absolutely Steve’s right to have that conversation, Bucky’d had no idea it had happened. He knows they’re close and that Steve and Sofie talk often. He just didn’t realize...how close. When he digs around after it, he realizes he’s glad. One more person for Sofie to count on is only a good thing. 

“And what did you say?” 

Sofie shrugs. “I mean, if it’s what you guys want, you should do it.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, “but what do you think?”

“I mean…” and there Sofie squirms a little and Bucky starts to worry. “I think I’m, you know, mostly grown up now. So it’s probably not going to affect my, like, _ life. _ But if it makes you guys happy, then you should, you know, do it.” Sofie turns a little more red with every word, and she’s so goddamned adorable that Bucky can’t help but grab her up in a big hug. 

“Oh my god,” she says, giggling. “Dad, stop.”

Bucky chuckles into her hair and kisses the top of her head before he lets her go. “I don’t know,” he says, shrugging. “I don’t think I can do any better.”

Sofie smiles and blushes, before taking on a devious grin that is one hundred percent Natasha. “So...would this be a good time to talk about getting a car.”

“Hahaha,” Buck says. “You think you’re so slick. But no.”

“Daddy!”

“Sorry, sweetheart. You mom and me made a deal and I’m sure not going back on it.”

With a sigh that only a teenage girl could deliver with a straight face, she grumps, “Fine. But I’m going to ace all my classes this year and next, and then you’ll be stuck buying me the car of my dreams and paying for parking.”

“And when you do, it will be my pleasure.”

“Ugh.”

“Love you, sweetheart.”

“I know,” she says, with a frown so deep even Bucky can tell it’s fake. “Love you, too.”

.

“Are you ready for this?” Bucky asks, hanging up the phone.

“I’m terrified.”

“Well I have it on good authority that it’s going to be a piece of cake.”

Steve cocks a skeptical brow his way. “Piece of cake?”

“Okay, maybe a little challenging.”

“We’re gonna be dads,” Steve says, his whole face lighting up.

“Well,” Bucky says, lacing his fingers with Steves. “She’s gotta be born first.”

“Oh my god. We have to  _ go. _ ”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Bucky says. “We’ve got this.”

.

“You got this?” Steve asks, rolling onto his stomach.

“Yeah, go back to sleep.”

“You’re a saint,” Steve says, but Bucky can tell Steve’s already half asleep. Besides, he’s the one who gets up with Daisy at six in the morning. Bucky’s okay with taking the two AM shift. 

Truth be told, he kind of loves this. Having the baby to himself, rocking her and singing lullabies, watching those blue eyes light up with wonder at every little thing. 

He knows it’s a cliche and he also knows that it  _ is _ a miracle. 

Their miracle. 

“I’m coming, sweetheart,” Bucky says, crossing through the bathroom. “Hold your horses.”

.

“You got this?” Steve asks, and Bucky grins into his phone. 

“Yeah, I got this.” He’s taking video of Daisy standing at the coffee table, holding on, but reaching for Steve with her other hand. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” Steve says. “Come to Daddy.” 

Daisy squeals and Bucky doesn’t think his smile, his heart, could grow any bigger. This is his family, here. This is his love, his whole heart, and part of it is smiling the most beautiful smile Bucky has ever seen, and part of it is teetering on tiptoes, inching closer each second to another milestone in what Bucky knows will be a remarkable life, and part of it is cheering them on, just like Bucky. 

“Come on, Daisy,” Sofie says, watching through Bucky’s camera feed on her phone. Bucky can see she’s smiling just as big as he is, and he’s glad once again that Steve is Daisy’s biological father. Bucky sees so much of himself in Sofie. It’s only fair that Steve gets that same experience. 

Besides, Steve hasn’t said anything yet, but Bucky knows he’s going to want another one in a year or so. He and Bucky both grew up only children, and they’ve both always wanted a big family. Adding another Rogers-Barnes to the mix is just fine from where Bucky’s standing. ]

“Dais,” Steve calls. “Come on.” He holds his arms out wide and in that single second, Daisy lets go of the table and takes two teetering steps toward Steve before falling on her bottom. 

“Baby!” Steve cheers, and crawls over to Daisy, where she is in turns shocked and thinking about crying, but then starts laughing as Steve hoists her up high and twirls with her. 

In a second, Bucky’s there with them, and Sofie’s yelling through the phone, and Bucky’s not sure his life could get any better, but then, he thought that yesterday, and look at him now. 

It’s unrelenting.

He loves it.

.

“That’s new,” Steve says. He walks into the living room, paint smeared across his shirt and what Bucky guesses is part of Daisy’s lunch smeared across his cheek. 

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Just playing around. Daisy with Sof?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, and sighs. “I’m really going to miss her when she goes back to school.”

“Yeah, but we got a whole summer between now and then. You gonna take her out driving tomorrow?” 

“Yeah, we’re going to go after lunch. You got Daisy, or do you want me to call Marissa and see if she can come?” 

Marissa’s the nanny that they’d hired once they realized that they both had careers that still needed tending, no matter how much they wanted to spend every waking minute with Daisy. They paid her full time wages, benefits and PTO, whether she was working that day or not. Bucky hadn’t really given the contract much thought, but when Steve pointed out how erratic their schedules were, they both agreed that paying her full time made sense. In exchange, she was flexible with their schedules, and they tried not to take advantage. It’s working.

Besides, Bucky finds he has less and less stomach for touring. He doesn’t want to pack up a few weeks out of the year and go play for crowds. He wants to be at home, making dinner for his family, watching it grow. It’s a quandary.

“Nah, Bucky says. “I got her. Let the poor girl have a few days off. We can manage the three of us, and you know I got a handful of dates coming up.” 

“You sure you don’t want us to come with? We can make it work.”

“I know, but it’s a lot of extra work. You don’t want to do all that.”

“I don’t want to miss you, either. Maybe let’s do the first date together, and figure it out from there?”

“You really want to drag a baby to Tampa? She’s got a lot of stuff, Steve.”

“No,” he agrees. “I really don’t want to drag a baby to Tampa. But I don’t like sleeping without you more than I don’t want to pack her shit and drag it down to Tampa. It’s one weekend,” he says.

Bucky looks at the man in front of him, with his tired eyes and messy clothes, hair that needs a cut, but he’s shining all the same, and Bucky is so...God, he is so in love with this man. 

“See if Marissa can organize it,” he says. “See if she wants to come.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks. “Really?”

“Yeah. Really,” Bucky answers, then lets his fingers play the song in his head, even as he nods his head for Steve to come give him a kiss.

“What is it?” Steve asks, nodding to the piano.

“Not sure,” Bucky says, then hums a little. “I think it might be a lullabye.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Maybe an album of them. What do you think?”

Steve leans in for a soft kiss, and then a slow one, before pulling away with a smile. “I think you got this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Jen. :)


End file.
